Against the Odds
by Heartlocket1004
Summary: Introducing Rosanne Jones- the new resident at 221 Baker Street. At their first meeting, Sherlock declares her boring and orders her out, to John's chagrin and Rose's anger. However, things start to change slowly as he realizes she's far cleverer than she looks, and might just be the one thing he's been missing in life. But what if she's not who she says she is? (Sherlock x OC)
1. Prologue: 221 Baker Street

*A/N I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters. I only own my own original character, Rosanne Jones. Contains spoilers for the series.

Rose P.O.V.

Rose heaved the last of the boxes down the hallway. She dusted her hands as she walked back to her flat in satisfaction. She'd just finished unpacking, and although there was a lot of tidying still left to do, she was happy with what she saw as she looked around.

Her things were all mostly arranged and the room bright and cheery. She'd gotten hold of a man who'd stripped the walls of the damp and mold, and then had it all freshly painted last week before she moved in. Mrs. Hudson had been delighted- she'd gotten a new tenant and the basement room was completely redecorated. The whole place actually looked livable now.

"Ooh, Ooh!" Rose smiled as she heard the kind old landlady's voice hoot from the open doorway. _Speak of the devil_. She thought humorously. "Come in!" She called out loud and the landlady walked in with a tray, carrying some hot tea.

"Thought you could use a cuppa." The old woman said, and Rose smiled at her as she accepted the tray gratefully. There was a steaming pot of tea and a small plate of biscuits. "Oh, look at this place. You've done a wonderful job with the walls." Mrs. Hudson said with an admiring look at the fresh mint-green walls.

Rose shrugged as she said with a smile: "Well, I happened to know someone who could help me out so it wasn't too much of a hassle." Mrs. Hudson nodded at all the boxes in the room as she chided: "You should've let me call the boys to help you- this is far too many things for a young woman such as yourself."

Rose laughed as she shook her head and said, bemused: "Mrs. Hudson, that's old fashioned thinking. Besides, I'm a big girl," she teased and the old woman smiled, "and I can use this as my workout of the day." Mrs. Hudson giggled at that when the front door to 221 banged open.

Rose looked up in surprise at the noise, and the two women could hear two men having an argument in the hallway as they came closer to Rose's apartment. "Sherlock, don't be rude, I'm sure it's a perfectly respectable-" An exasperated voice saying but it was cut off by a sharp: "No, John, it's a nuisance and I won't stand having to share a space with someone intolerable who will question my actions."

"I do that all the time!" The first voice, John, cried as the steps arrived outside Rose's door. "Sherlock!" But the door banged open and Rose lifted an eyebrow as a tall man with dark curly hair stormed into her apartment. This must be Sherlock. The other man, John, stood just outside the door, looking at Rose sheepishly.

"Get out." Sherlock snapped at her, his blue eyes icily meeting her green ones, and John winced while Rose's brows lifted. "Excuse me?" She asked and he repeated as he rolled his eyes: "Get out." Mrs. Hudson frowned as she scolded the man: "Sherlock Holmes, how dare you be so rude to this nice young lady?"

He snapped: "Dyed blonde hair, artificially curled, a lab assistant by the slight chemical splashes on her pants, mid twenties likely on the slightly later side, recently out of a relationship but not one she particularly cared about judging from the lack of a ring even though it was a long one judging from the damaged ends of her hair, and judging from the way the room's been decorated and the weights in that box, has a passion for art and keeping fit."

John groaned while Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips unhappily. Rose blinked but her eyes narrowed as Sherlock finished: "All in all, completely boring, mundane, and not worth my time, so get out." He directed the end of his sentence at her and then stood impassively, waiting for her to follow his directions.

She slapped him. John choked while Mrs. Hudson gasped and Sherlock reeled back, clutching his cheek. "What was that for?" He demanded and she replied coolly: "For insulting my intelligence and for distressing Mrs. Hudson and your friend. He's very rude, isn't he?" She directed her question to John, who was still standing by the door.

John seemed surprised but he quickly nodded as he walked over, saying: "Yeah, sorry about him. And yes he's usually like that so please don't take offence." "A bit late now." She commented as she leveled a matching glare back at the fuming man.

John held out a hand as he introduced: "Sorry for the late introductions. I'm John Watson, I live in 221B, right above you." She shook his hand warmly as she replied: "Rosanne Jones, but please call me Rose." Sherlock snorted at her plain name and John threw a warning look at the man, but Rose ignored him as she continued.

"Lovely to meet _you_ , John," Sherlock heard the emphasis and scowled while John grinned, "and I don't hold you responsible for your rude companion." "Didn't you hear me tell you to get out?" Sherlock demanded. John closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky as though asking for patience.

Mrs. Hudson scolded: "Sherlock, where are your manners?" "He never had them." John muttered while Rose turned to the tall man. She said coldly: "Oh, was my right hand hitting your face not a good enough reply for the conceited man? If you need me to dumb it down," his eyes narrowed but she continued coolly, "that was me saying: 'Fat chance'."

Sherlock stared at her, fuming, before he abruptly stormed back out, slamming the door behind him childishly. They stood in silence as they heard the distinct sound of the door upstairs slamming shut as well. John sighed, and Rose turned to him.

"How do you live with him?" She asked and he said tiredly: "It's a question I ask myself a lot sometimes." He paused and then turned to her, asking with a frown: "Hold on, how'd you know we were flat mates?"

Rose replied: "You said you lived above me and he just stormed up there. And Mrs. Hudson said her two boys live up there," John grinned while Mrs. Hudson brightened up considerably, "so I assumed he was your flat mate." Rose concluded and John smiled.

"Very good, that. Yeah." John said, and Rose laughed. "Why, did you think I was a simpleton after what _he_ said." She asked, and John shook his head, also laughing as he told her: "No, Sherlock's a genius but a sociopath. He thinks everyone's below him and that, in his mind, equals stupid."

Rose said thoughtfully: "What a lonely way to live." John looked at the blonde, surprised, but the girl just moved on, saying with a smile: "Well then, Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Watson. If you two don't mind the mess- I've just moved in, but if you don't mind- how about we have a cuppa?"

Mrs. Hudson beamed at the young woman while John said enthusiastically: "Yes, that sounds absolutely fantastic right now. And please, it's just John."

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock lay on the couch, sulking, when he heard John come back up the stairs a good hour and a half after he'd left the boring woman downstairs. John walked into the sitting room, and Sherlock frowned, pulling his dressing gown around as he sulked into the couch.

"Well, she's a sweet girl, I don't know why you had to be so rude." John declared as he sat down, pulling open the papers. Sherlock groaned as he said: "I can't have her down there- she'll interfere with my work and bother me when I need to think!" He complained.

He knew how things would go- the new neighbor would try to get all friendly but not accept Sherlock's strange antics and most likely annoy him with her nagging as she tried to get him to be 'normal' or told him off for doing things, like his experiments.

John sighed as he put the papers down, saying to Sherlock seriously: "Look, she's not like that. She was really nice, even after you were so rude, and Mrs. Hudson adores her already." Sherlock snapped: "Oh, you're already all over her, a pretty woman living on her own downstairs, loves art." He scorned.

John sighed as he tried: "No, she's not like that. Look, she's a smart girl too- she's a lab assistant at Bart's. She'd have to be excellent to be there at her age- she's only twenty six." Sherlock sighed, sitting up and scratching his head with both hands furiously as he said: "No, boring, boring! Who cares?"

Sherlock's eyes suddenly gleamed as he thought aloud: "Maybe if I place those fingers in her fridge-" "Don't you dare!" John snapped and Sherlock frowned sulkily. John warned: "Leave her alone, Sherlock. At the very least, she pays rent for Mrs. Hudson to live comfortably. Think about it like that if you must, but don't try to scare her away."

Sherlock scowled, and turned his back on John. The latter sighed deeply, and picked up the papers again. That night, it was silent in 221 as the two men refused to talk to each other and downstairs the young woman finished tidying up her flat before going to bed early to prepare for work the next day.

* * *

3rd Person P.O.V.

It had been about two weeks since Rose had moved in. She and John got along well, and Mrs. Hudson loved having the cheerful young woman around. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her relationship with Sherlock. Things were still cold between them as Sherlock refused to apologize and continued to make pointed remarks about her moving out, while she pointedly ignored him.

But otherwise, life moved on in 221 Baker Street. Rose settled into her work at St. Bartholomew's Hospital while John and Sherlock continued on some of their mad adventures, with the former becoming increasingly worried about his lack of finances as he adjusted back to London.

It also marked a month since John and Sherlock had started living together, when John returned home one day after failing to do the shopping by shouting at a chip and pin machine. And it is at this time where our story really begins…


	2. The Blind Banker

Rose had just walked up the stairs to ask John how his job interview went, but she groaned when she saw Sherlock was actually in for once. He was sitting before the mirror at the back of the boys' living room, where he'd stuck pictures from his latest case, but he ignored her as he continued to stare intently at John.

"Rose." John greeted. Sherlock's eyes slid to her for a millisecond before he turned back to the pictures, turning away from John at last. "John." Rose replied with a grin. "Please, have a seat and excuse the mess." John said as he tidied up a little, offering his armchair to the lady.

"Thanks." Rose sat down as John walked to the kitchen to get her some tea. "So, how was the job interview at that surgery?" She asked, but to her surprise Sherlock replied: "Apparently 'she' was great." He smirked while John groaned. Rose raised her brows and wiggled them at John.

"My, isn't that lovely." Rose teased and John groaned. "I should've known you'd tell her." He complained to Sherlock who just smiled. But then Sherlock focused again as he said to John, who'd come back into the room with a cup for Rose: "Here, have a look." He jerked his head behind him at the laptop sitting open on the desk.

"Hmm?" John asked as he walked over and Rose peered over to see the 'Online News' with an article titled: 'Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police.' The rest seemed to be about the man, a freelance journalist, who'd been shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows had been locked… from the inside.

"Saw that this morning." Rose murmured, and Sherlock turned to her with narrowed eyes. He was about to open his mouth, probably to say something rude, when John read softly: "The 'intruder who can walk through walls.'"

Sherlock was distracted enough, and he replied to John: "Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon." Rose looked curious as she asked: "Whose Van Coon?"

Sherlock ignored her while John asked in disbelief as he straightened up: "God. You think..." Sherlock finished: "He's killed another one." Rose's brows lifted as she asked: "So there's a killer out there murdering people, who can 'walk through walls'?"

Sherlock ignored her, getting up to leave. John sighed as he said apologetically to Rose: "Sorry, got to go, it's important." Rose just shrugged and she waved him off, saying: "Go on, don't worry about me. I'll just leave the tea for you boys though."

John nodded gratefully and ran after Sherlock. Rose stopped, pausing to glance at the pictures on the mirror curiously and then at the news page, before she walked out of the flat and downstairs to her own flat, closing the door behind her firmly.

* * *

That night, Rose stood with Molly Hooper in the hospital canteen, getting their dinners. Molly was incredibly awkward but she was a really sweet woman and she had shown the younger woman around when she'd first arrived. They often ate lunch together, and since Molly often worked in the lab, they were around each other quite often.

Rose was surprised when she heard Sherlock ask from behind them: "What are you thinking: pork or the pasta?" Both women turned to him, Molly also startled as she said: "Oh, it's you!" Rose detected a nervous tone and saw the look on the older woman's face and she realized abruptly that Molly Hooper fancied Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello, Rose." Sherlock greeted and Rose started. He had never acknowledged her presence before- he was clearly trying to get on their good sides for something. "Er, hi…" Rose said slowly while Molly looked between them with surprise and some jealousy.

"Oh, you know each other?" She asked and Rose explained: "He lives in the flat above mine." Sherlock said as he looked at the menu options: "This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?" He smiled at Molly and Rose's eyes narrowed. _What did he want?_

He continued: "I'd stick with the pasta. Don't wanna be doing roast pork – not if you're slicing up cadavers." He smiled at Molly again and she smiled at him nervously. She asked him eagerly: "What are you having?"

Sherlock replied promptly: "Don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down." Rose raised her brows at that while Molly asked hopefully: "So you're working here tonight?" Sherlock replied: "Need to examine some bodies."

Rose asked: "'Examine'?" while Molly asked at the same time: "'Some'?" Sherlock nodded once as he said: "Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis." Rose frowned- those were the names he'd said earlier while they'd been looking at the clues to his latest case.

Molly meanwhile had looked down at her clipboard and murmured: "They're on my list." _Oh_. Now Rose knew why Sherlock was here. Especially when Sherlock's eyes softened into sad, puppy eyes as he asked softly: "Could you wheel them out again for me?" Rose couldn't believe him, and her eyes narrowed into a glare, which he ignored.

Molly stuttered a little as she said apologetically: "Well ... the paperwork's already gone through." Sherlock's eyes lifted to her hair and Rose could almost hear the gears whirring in his head. He gestured at Molly's hair as he noted: "You've ... changed your hair." Rose's eyebrows raised as high as they could while Molly asked nervously: "What?"

Sherlock said, a little awkwardly: "The-the style: it's usually parted in the middle." Molly said slowly, but with a nervous smile: "Yes, well..." Sherlock suddenly added: "Mmm, it's good; it, um, suits you better this way." He smiled, and Rose stared at him. His smiling was creeping her out.

Molly meanwhile looked very flattered and flustered, and she turned away from him, smiling at Rose nervously. But Rose stood in disbelief as she saw Sherlock's smile drop instantly and he looked down at his watch impatiently.

"You-" she began indignantly but Molly turned back around and Sherlock was beaming at her again. She led him away, Rose trailing angrily. As Molly left to fetch the bodies, Rose hissed at him: "You can't just play with her feelings like that! This is cruel!"

He just rolled his eyes at her as another man with short brown hair entered the hospital. He looked at Rose curiously and asked Sherlock derisively: "Are we bringing young girls to work now? Whose she, your girlfriend."

Both Sherlock and Rose looked offended at that, and Rose snapped: "And I thought Sherlock was rude." Sherlock introduced shortly: "Rose, meet Detective Inspector Dimmock. Inspector, my neighbor and a lab assistant at the hospital, Rosanne Jones."

And with that, he turned his heel and walked into the morgue where Molly was just unzipping the first body bag. Rose followed, still indignant about both men's rude behaviors and also concerned for her friend, who Sherlock was playing for a fool.

"We're just interested in the feet." Sherlock called as they all walked in, and Molly repeated with a frown: "The feet?" Sherlock said softly: "Yes. D'you mind if we have a look at them?" He smiled at her as he stopped by the feet, Dimmock and Rose trailing after him.

Molly did as he asked, unzipping the other end of the body bag, pulling the sides away to reveal a tattoo of a lotus in black ink, circled by a single line, on the man's right heel. Rose frowned as she stared at the rather odd tattoo. Sherlock looked satisfied as he walked to the other bag, saying: "Now Van Coon."

Molly obliged, opening the feet as the other two trailed behind, looking at the man's feet and Rose saw the same tattoo on that man's right heel as well. Dimmock sighed silently while Sherlock said in mock-surprise: "Oh!"

The DI said awkwardly: "So…" Sherlock said flatly: "So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour," Rose snorted and Sherlock looked at her in surprise while he finished: "or I'm telling the truth." Dimmock looked resigned as he asked: "What do you want?"

Sherlock ordered: "I want every book from Lukis' apartment _and_ Van Coon's." Rose's brows furrowed while Dimmock asked skeptically: "Their books?" Sherlock nodded and Dimmock sighed again as he left, pulling out his cellphone.

Sherlock said: "Thank you, Molly. Have a nice evening." And he took off, leaving Molly looking a little hurt while Rose was torn between curiosity and anger. She was beginning to become interested in this case and Sherlock's methods, but she was just as angry at how he'd used Molly and then just left her.

* * *

Rose arrived back at 221 a few hours later, and paused at the bottom of the stairs. She could hear Sherlock as he said: "Check for the dates..." There was a silent pause, and then Sherlock said excitedly: "Here, John. Arrived from China four days ago. Anonymous."

Rose couldn't help it; she walked up the stairs towards the men. Sherlock was saying: "Vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East." John murmured: "One in Lukis' suitcase and one in Van Coon's. Rose arrived quietly and peered over to see the pair were searching for Chinese…

"Antiquities sold at auction." Sherlock muttered. Sherlock pointed as he said: "Look, here's another one." John hummed in agreement while Rose watched as everything came together for her. Sherlock said: "Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold four hundred thousand."

John was consulting a diary and he suddenly pointed at the screen as he said: "Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million." Sherlock murmured: "All of them from an anonymous source."

Rose realized and said out loud at the same time as Sherlock: "They're stealing them back from China." Both men jumped, spinning to face her as John cried: "Oh, my God." He held a hand to his chest while Sherlock stood, demanding furiously as he approached her: "Can't you knock? How'd you get here so quietly?" Rose blinked at their surprise as she answered: "Well, you were a bit busy."

John's breathing had eased but Sherlock's nostrils were flaring as he snapped: "What are you doing here?" She shrugged as she said: "You made me curious with the tattoos. So, those men were smugglers, and they've been bringing back rare artifacts? And the tattoos- it was a mark of their organization, wasn't it?"

Sherlock stared at her for a bit before he nodded slowly as he said: "Yes… one by one they're feeding those artifacts into Britain." John nodded as he checked the diary and then a printed calendar and told the other two: "And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

Rose frowned. "So… but those men were murdered." She pointed out. Sherlock looked at her sharply as he asked: "What makes you so sure?" She retorted: "You wouldn't be investigating it if it wasn't murder."

He looked put out while John looked amused and Rose continued thoughtfully: "So, they were murdered, but why if they were doing a good job?" Her eyes widened as she said softly: "Oh… one of them stole something."

Sherlock nodded as he said: "What if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?" John murmured: "That's why Zhi Zhu's come." Sherlock suddenly whirled on Rose as he asked with his eyes narrowed: "How'd you guess they stole something?"

Rose pointed at the photographs on the mirror. "I saw that this morning," she explained as Sherlock glanced at it briefly before looking back at her intently, "and it's a warning, isn't it? For that man, Van Coon. I'm assuming since Brian Lukis had the same tattoo, he was also threatened and killed. So, if they were doing a good job, why threaten them? Only answer: one of them stole something and the killer's looking for it."

Both men were surprised, but John was shocked when Rose pointed at the new set of pictures on the mirror. They were of whole lines of symbols covering a wall that he and Sherlock had found just an hour ago, and Rose said: "So, now the killer's spreading the word, but you don't know how to crack that number system to crack the code. Oh, is Zhi Zhu the killer?" She added curiously.

John looked amazed while Sherlock frowned. "How'd you know that, and how'd you know those were a number system?" She looked surprised, as though it was obvious, as she replied: "Zhi Zhu means 'spider'. I took Chinese in high school. 'Killer who can walk through walls'? More like, 'killer who can climb'."

John snorted while Rose continued as she pointed at the pictures: "Those are old Chinese characters, the Hangzhou number system. And they're all printed in pairs, so that explains why you asked for those dead men's books from the DI earlier."

"Amazing." John breathed as he looked at Rose. "You're almost as good as Sherlock." Sherlock's brows were knitted as he thought furiously, while Rose looked surprised. John suddenly said: "Hang on. We should've come to you from the beginning, you knew it was a number system."

She looked surprised. "Didn't you know?" She asked Sherlock. He was saved from replying as Mrs. Hudson knocked on the open door, saying: "Ooh-ooh!" They all turned to her and she looked at Rose standing beside Sherlock, asking: "Oh, are you two getting along now?"

"No." Rose said immediately, moving a little away while Sherlock frowned after her. Mrs. Hudson looked disappointed but she turned to Sherlock as she asked: "Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?" Sherlock turned to her with a puzzled look.

"What?" He asked and Mrs. Hudson explained: "A young man's outside with crates of books." Sherlock immediately ordered: "Send them up."

* * *

Rose stared as the police men carried in yet another plastic crate, filled to the brim with books, dumping it down in Sherlock and John's living room, joining the steadily growing pile of similar boxes.

Sherlock said grimly: "So, the numbers are references." John nodded as he said: "To books." Sherlock corrected: "To specific pages and specific words on those pages." Rose murmured: "And the right book will give you the right message." Sherlock nodded at her as he said: "Exactly."

Rose and John looked surprised but Sherlock didn't seem to notice. John said slowly: "Right…" He decided to let it go and he asked: "So ... fifteen and one: that means ..." Sherlock explained: "Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read." John asked the other two: "Okay. So what's the message?"

Rose looked at him, surprised while Sherlock said mockingly: "Depends on the book. That's the cunning of the book _code_. Has to be one that they both owned." Rose murmured to John: "Oh, I see, he's just perpetually rude."

John murmured back: "I told you so." Rose nodded as she said: "Ah, sociopath." Sherlock snapped: "Sociopath can hear you." John sighed as he looked around the many boxes, each labeled 'Van Coon' or 'Lukis'. "Okay, right." He groaned. "Well, this shouldn't take too long, should it?"

He and Sherlock began to open boxes, Rose standing a little uncertainly. "Er, should I just go…?" She asked and John opened his mouth but Sherlock cut in as he said shortly: "No, we could use another intellect." Rose and John stared at him.

"Excuse me? I thought you said I was mundane?" Rose demanded while John looked at his friend in complete shock. "Yes, well, it seems I… might… have misjudged you." He mumbled under his breath. John's face broke into a huge grin and he asked brightly: "Sorry, Sherlock, what was that?"

Sherlock glared at him as he snapped: "Come on, just get to work." He then looked over at the blonde who was looking shell-shocked. "You too." He grumbled. Rose paused, and then grinned. She was starting to understand Sherlock, now that they weren't just snapping at each other. When he glanced at her, she beamed at him. Sherlock blinked as his heart suddenly to beat a little faster.

He frowned but Rose had turned away already, opening a box and beginning to sort through it. Sherlock shrugged it off, and started to work through his box when DI Dimmock entered. He looked around briefly before holding up a plastic packet for Sherlock to look at.

"We found these, at the museum." He told them, and when Sherlock ignored him, he turned to John, who was sitting at the desk now, and asked: "Is this your writing?" John took the bag as he sighed, explaining: "Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us. Ta." Dimmock nodded and then turned back to Sherlock.

He asked, much more deferent than before: "Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?" He asked added Sherlock didn't reply. Sherlock didn't even look at him as he said flatly: "Some silence right now would be marvelous." Rose looked at him in disbelief.

Dimmock also stared at him, offended, then glanced at John. John just shook his head apologetically. Dimmock clenched his jaw in irritation and turned to leave. He saw Rose and looked surprised, but he just left without another word. The three in the room just quietly started to work through the crates.

Sherlock suddenly brightened as he picked up a book and grabbed an identical one from a pile he'd just sorted. He flipped through it and read out loud, annoyed: "'Cigarette'." He slammed the book shut and dropped both books in disgust on a pile John had placed on the desk.

"Uh…" John sighed, moving the books and going back to writing down the titles of each book he had. They all worked through the crates slowly as time continued to pass. Each time they thought they had it, finding a matching pair, they were disappointed.

Rose snorted at one point though. Sherlock glanced at her but she shook her head, tossing the books. When John had looked at her, she mouthed what she'd read: 'Sex'. He snorted too, and they shared a grin while Sherlock looked annoyed before they all continued to search.

Rose's eyes were growing heavy when John's watch alarm beeped. He switched it off and then he looked out the window to confirm what his watch was telling him. He groaned and buried his head tiredly in his hands as he realized it was indeed morning.

"I have to go to work." He said tiredly and Rose also looked out the window sleepily. Sherlock just hummed as he walked about in thought and frustration. John turned to Rose as he asked tiredly: "Do you need to share a ride to work?" She shook her head, suppressing a yawn as she told him tiredly: "No, it's my off day."

He nodded and left. Rose and Sherlock continued to work through and eventually Sherlock gave up on the many piles of books, turning to his own bookshelf as he muttered: "A book that everybody would own." Rose said tiredly as she sat in John's armchair: "That won't work."

He ignored her as he pulled out a few books and set them on a box to look through them. Rose looked up to see the first one he was checking was the Concise Oxford English Dictionary. "I tried that one. It's 'Add'." Rose told him. He tossed it aside after he'd checked for himself, and then grabbed the Holy Bible. He went through each one and then rubbed his head with both hands furiously in his frustration.

She looked at him pointedly, and then she heard footsteps. She turned as John returned from his shift and Sherlock turned to him as well, saying immediately: "I need to get some air. We're going out tonight."

John said awkwardly: "Actually, I've, er, got a date." He smiled a little smugly and Rose looked at him in surprise and delight. "What?" Sherlock asked with a frown as Rose said sincerely: "Congratulations, John." John smiled at her and then he turned to Sherlock as he explained: "It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

Sherlock looked confused as he said: "That's what I was suggesting." Rose stifled a laugh as John replied: "No it wasn't." He cocked his head a little as he added: "At least I hope not." Rose laughed at that and at Sherlock's put out expression.

Sherlock thought for a minute before asking: "Where are you taking her?" John replied: "Er, cinema." Rose smiled but it faded as Sherlock groaned: "Oh, dull, boring, predictable." He walked over while Rose frowned at him as he hid a smug smile from John.

He ignored her as he produced a piece of paper from his trouser pocket and passed it to John as he said: "Why don't you try this? In London for one night only." He added and Rose peered over to see it was a part of a poster advertising the 'Yellow Dragon Circus'.

John chuckled nervously, before saying: "Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice." He walked off to shower and get ready and Rose got up to whisper to Sherlock: "Can't you leave him to enjoy his date in peace?" He looked at her innocently as he asked: "What's wrong with a circus?"

She looked at him in disbelief. "A Chinese circus, here for only one night, right in the middle of a murder mystery full to the brim with Chinese elements?" Rose pointed out and Sherlock tried to look innocent. She scoffed at him: "Don't patronize me."

Sherlock paused, and his expression became thoughtful as he murmured: "No… I shouldn't, should I?" She looked surprised. He looked at her thoughtfully before he asked suddenly: "Would you like to join me tonight?" She lifted her brows in surprise as she looked at him.

"You mean, help you gatecrash John's date?" She asked and he smirked a little as he replied: "I mean, join me on a date that happens to coincide with John's." She laughed and she teased: "Aw, are you so jealous that you'd stoop to ask a woman on a date just to follow John? You must love him so much." He snorted a little at that and she laughed at him.

His heart stuttered a little at the sound, but he forced himself to get a grip, especially as she mused with a grin: "Sure, why not? And maybe I'll be able to keep you in line so you don't completely ruin John's date."

* A/N Sorry if it seems like it's jumping around a little right now- I wanted to introduce Rose first. I promise it gets more interesting! Thanks for reading.


	3. Tong

"This isn't very nice." Rose commented as Sherlock led her to the theater, noticing John and his date walking up to the manager sitting inside the Box Office. "Oh, nice is boring." He replied and then he held out his arm for her to take. She looked at it skeptically.

"Come on, I haven't got all day." He said impatiently and she sighed as she took his arm. "At least you know how to be a gentleman." She muttered as they followed John. He glanced at her, and then snorted as she added with a small laugh: "Because now I know you're just being rude on purpose."

They got close enough to John to hear just as the manager was telling John: "Actually, I have four in that name." John frowned as he said: "No, I don't think so. We only booked two." Sherlock piped up then: "And then I phoned back and got two for myself and my date as well."

John turned to Sherlock in complete disbelief and then stared incredulously at Rose on Sherlock's arm as they stepped up behind him and his date. Sherlock looked the other woman up and down before he offered his hand as he introduced with a smile: "I'm Sherlock."

The woman glanced at John quickly before she shook Sherlock's hand with a nervous smile as she said uncertainly: "Er, hi." "Hello." Sherlock greeted, somewhat coldly. Rose smiled as she chimed in: "My name's Rose. Lovely to meet you."

The woman smiled at her as she replied nervously: "Sarah. Nice to meet you, too." Rose smiled back sincerely as she said: "John was looking forward to meeting with you." Immediately the woman looked more relaxed, sending John a delighted glance as she asked: "Really?"

Rose nodded while John looked at her with relief and Sherlock was put out. "Well, we'd best get going." Sherlock said as he gave Sarah a fake smile. He walked off with Rose, and muttered to her petulantly: "Why're you being so nice to her?"

Rose shrugged as she pointed out: "You're the one jealous, not me. It's not her fault John lives with a sociopathic flat mate." He gave her an annoyed look but she just smiled at him innocently. He rolled his eyes as John and Sarah joined them.

"I'm just going to nip to the loo." Sarah said, looking at Sherlock a little uncertainly, and Rose piped up: "I'll go with you." John gave her a thankful smile and Rose winked at him when Sarah'd turned her back.

The women walked off and Sarah asked: "So, how do you know John?" Rose smiled as she said: "I'm his neighbor, and I'm here with his flat mate tonight." Sarah nodded, looking a little relieved as she said: "Oh, so you and John aren't…" Rose saw where the woman was going and she shook her head firmly as she reassured: "No, no. John's a good friend, and I'm happy he's met a lovely woman like you."

Sarah relaxed and by the time they'd finished up with their light toiletries and walked back to the men, they were chatting lightly. Unfortunately they walked up right as Sherlock was demanding: "What?" and John snapped at the younger man: "while I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"

Rose suppressed a laugh as Sarah looked startled and John saw them behind him. John looked extremely awkward as he said: _"_ Heyyy…" Rose grinned at him from behind Sarah while Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. Rose walked up to Sherlock as he walked off up the stairs to the performance area.

As Rose followed, she heard John behind them asking Sarah: "Ready?" Sarah said brightly: "Yeah." And the pair followed as Rose whispered to Sherlock: "You had to push him." Sherlock muttered back: "I didn't know." She looked him up and down in disbelief.

"You're joking." She said flatly and he rolled his eyes as they walked into the area. She appraised him and she murmured: "Oh… you actually are innocent." He looked at her, annoyed but she grinned. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." She teased and he rolled his eyes at her again.

They stopped by a circle of candles that laid out a makeshift stage… in front of an actual stage. Rose raised her brows. The room was dark except for the candlelight and the few patrons who were here were all mingling about since there were no seats, just the open area. It looked more like a cult gathering than anything else really.

John also seemed to notice and was put out as he muttered to his flat mate so Sarah couldn't hear: "You said circus. This is _not_ a circus. Look at the size of this crowd." Sherlock was ignoring him as he looked about and John said in exasperation: "Sherlock, this is ..." he struggled to find a non-offensive word, " _... art_." He said at last, with great distaste.

Sherlock just replied over his shoulder: "This is not their day job." John replied sarcastically: "No, sorry, I forgot. They're _not_ a circus; they're a gang of international smugglers." Rose snorted but they fell silent as a tapping sound began. It sounded like a small hand drum, and the tapping formed a rhythm as everyone went quiet.

Sherlock turned to watch as a woman dressed in an ornate Chinese costume and wearing heavy makeup, traditionally known as 'the Opera Singer', stepped into the center of the candles, looking out at the audience with a regal air. Rose watched in interest as the woman lifted a hand and the drumming stopped.

A heavier drumming started, more menacing as the woman moved over to a clothed object, removing the cloth to reveal what looked like an antique crossbow-like contraption. She then held out a large arrow with feathers at the end for decoration, holding it high for them to see, before placing it carefully into the contraption.

Sarah looked amazed while John looked at Sherlock incredulously but both Sherlock and Rose were watching intently as the Chinese woman removed a feather from her headdress and delicately dropped it into the metal bowl on the crossbow's trigger. Immediately, the arrow was released, whizzing into the air before it shot into the painted board on the other side of the circle.

The crowd gasped and then clapped, laughing in awe. Sarah looked at John as she laughed lightly, placing a hand over her heart at the fright the speed of the arrow had momentarily caused. John nodded but sent a look over his shoulder to his friend. He stopped when he caught sight of Rose's face. He involuntarily felt a shiver run down his spine at the dark look on the girl's face, so contrary to her usual demeanor.

Instrumental music began as a new, masked man stepped into the circle. He was dressed in chainmail and his mask was just as ornate and intricate as the woman's headdress. He opened his arms wide and they watched as two men stepped forward with heavy chains. They led the masked man back to the painted board and began to chain him tightly to it.

Sherlock whispered to Rose and John: "Classic Chinese escapology act." John and Sarah turned to him as John hummed questioningly: "Hmm?" Rose was watching intently, but John saw her expression was once again simply curious. He wondered if he'd imagined what he saw earlier, tricked by the candlelight.

Sherlock didn't notice as he continued to explain, his eyes trained on the circle: "The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires." The woman was setting another arrow in place as the chained man was padlocked into place and his head was pulled back against the board. The man cried out sharply, adding a dramatic effect to the show.

He continued to shout as the drum beats became louder and more urgent, all adding to the tension as the audience watched in a mixture of adrenaline, nerves and excitement. A cymbal clashed and Sarah jumped, clutching John's arm as she gasped in surprise: "Oh, Gawd!" She let go as she said, embarrassed: "I'm sorry!"

She laughed a little, and John laughed with her to alleviate her nerves, smiling as she took his arm again, holding it for comfort. The woman had picked up a small knife, showing it to the audience and Sherlock explained to John and Sarah, seeing that Rose was understanding what was happening: "She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl."

Just as Sherlock said, the woman stabbed the sandbag and as the sand began to pour out, it lowered a weight attached to the sand bag with a string, slowly moving it down towards the crossbow while the masked man cried out as he struggled to remove his bonds in time.

The audience watched intently as the man began to break out of his chains, freeing his arms but he was pulling on the restraints around his neck as the weight got closer to the crossbow. Sarah leaned into John, holding his arm tightly as they watched with a mix of angst and anticipation.

The weight hit the crossbow just as the man dropped to the ground, free, and the arrow hit the board, passing just over the man's head as he fell away. The masked man cried out triumphantly while the audience clapped and Sherlock disappeared. Rose let him go, staying behind when he motioned her silently with his hand to stay.

"Thank God." Sarah said as she let go of John to clap while John said: "My God!" They all clapped and John looked back but saw Sherlock missing. He looked questioningly at Rose but she just shrugged and he looked around but there was no sign of Sherlock.

The woman raised a hand to silence the audience and they all fell silent, watching with interest as she began to speak: "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider." Rose's eyebrows lifted at that.

The crowd clapped and they watched as a masked acrobat fell towards them from the sky, rolling through the air as a red band, wrapped around his waist, unwound. He stopped several feet above the ground, his body straight and lying parallel to the floor. The audience continued to clap and John asked impressed: "Did you see that?"

Rose watched the man as he began to perform his act with the red bands, flying in the air, twisting and turning, narrowing her eyes as she watched. _Zhi zhu…_ She thought as she watched.

Her eyes suddenly zeroed in on the curtains drawn across the actual stage, seeing them billowing at one spot… almost as though someone was hitting it repeatedly. She paused, wondering if she should go, knowing Sherlock was likely the cause behind the disturbance. But… was it the right thing to do?

She debated for a few moments when suddenly Sherlock tumbled out, falling off the stage and landing on his back. She stared on in alarm as a masked figure tumbled out gracefully after Sherlock, landing on his feet on the ground. The crowd gasped and John dashed towards the scene. He raced forwards as the masked man drew a knife, lifting it to plunge it down on Sherlock but John rammed into the attacker on time.

John pushed him into the stage, but the masked man kicked John, sending him flying. Rose's eyes narrowed but she struggled to make a decision- to intervene or not to intervene? Everyone was running away from the scene, fleeing but Sarah ran forward. Rose followed the older woman as she grabbed an arrow and ran at the masked figure.

Just as the figure was about to lower his knife at Sherlock again, Sarah whacked the man over the head. Rose knelt next to Sherlock as the masked attacker doubled over in pain. Sarah whacked the arrow into the man's side, hitting him in the same spot twice and causing him to fall over in pain. Rose helped Sherlock up just as John also joined them, breathless with pain.

Sherlock stumbled over, pulling off his attacker's shoe to reveal the same tattoo on the man's right foot. John had grabbed Sarah's hand, gasping out with what little sound he could make through his pain: "Come on." Sherlock grabbed Rose's hand as he urged: "Come on! Let's go!"

He led them all out to safety, clutching Rose's hand securely.

* * *

Dimmock stormed into his office, Sherlock right behind him. John and Rose followed while a bewildered Sarah followed John. Dimmock snapped: "I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted."

Sherlock argued: "Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong." Rose frowned. Dimmock had reached his desk and had turned to face them angrily and John said calmly, trying to reason with the DI: "Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable."

Sherlock added: "These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back." Dimmock demanded: "Get _what_ back?" Sherlock looked away, biting his lip angrily, not wanting to admit it. John said hesitantly: "We don't know."

Dimmock repeated in disbelief: "You don't know." Sherlock averted his eyes and Dimmock said with restrained anger: "Mr Holmes ..." He sat in his chair as he snapped: _"_ I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something."

Sherlock looked slightly surprised but his face was grim as Dimmock said sharply: "I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have _something_ to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime." Rose pursed her lips but remained silent and she walked out with the others, her brows knitting furiously.

* * *

They trudged back into 221B, Sherlock lost in thought, Rose walking in behind them. The two men stared at the pictures on the mirror while Rose coaxed Sarah inside, having been forgotten by the men. John murmured: "They'll be back in China by tomorrow."

Sherlock replied: "No, they won't leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous." He walked closer to the pictures as he murmured: "Somewhere in this message it _must_ tell us." He trailed off into thought.

Sarah hovered a little while Rose tried to offer her a seat. Sarah shook her head at the kind girl before she cleared her throat as she said: "Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it." John turned to her and he hurriedly said: "No, no, you don't have to go, does she? You can stay." At the same time Sherlock said, not even turning around: "Yes, it would be better to study if you left now."

Rose glared at the back of Sherlock's head and he turned to them as John also glared at his friend. John turned back to Sarah as he said firmly: "He's kidding. Please stay if you'd like." Sarah looked nervously at Sherlock but he'd turned back to the pictures again.

She smiled awkwardly before trying to break the tension as she said: "Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?" Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes briefly in exasperation as he murmured: "Ooh, God."

Sarah looked at him while John and Rose glared again at the back of Sherlock's head. John firmly ignored him, going over to the kitchen to find food with a reassuring smile at Sarah while Rose walked up to Sherlock and hissed: "Please, just behave. For John."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes before he began to try to decipher the message once more. Rose went downstairs, murmuring: "I'll be right back." Sarah hovered over Sherlock as he worked at the desk in the living room while John tinkered about, trying to find something in the fridge- so far all he had were eyeballs.

Sarah tried to make conversation as she stared at the pictures on the mirror: "So this is what you do, you and Rose and John. You solve puzzles for a living." Sherlock snapped, not looking at her: "Consulting detective." Sarah glanced at him as she muttered: "Oh."

Sarah wandered over and looked over Sherlock's shoulder and she pointed at the picture he was holding, asking: "What are these squiggles?" Sherlock's eyes lifted off the page as he tried very hard not to kill her. Keeping Rose's words in mind he said shortly: "They're numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect."

Sarah said quickly and somewhat derisively: "Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course I should have known that." "Rose knew it." Sherlock countered. John had managed to find a bag of Wotsits and was emptying it into a bowl when Rose returned- with Mrs. Hudson.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs. Hudson hooted softly as the two women entered the kitchen, sneaking in so Sarah wouldn't see. John's face turned to one of grateful delight to see Rose was carrying Mrs. Hudson's tray, covered with a tea towel.

Mrs. Hudson whispered: "Rose told me about your dilemma dear. I've done punch, and a bowl of nibbles." John said softly: "Oh, Rose, you angel. Mrs Hudson, you're a _saint_!" Rose smiled at him while Mrs. Hudson murmured: "If it was Monday, I'd have been to the supermarket!"

John replied softly: "No; thank you! _Thank_ you!" He nodded at them both and Rose just nodded at him encouragingly. At the same time, Sarah had picked up the evidence bag Dimmock had brought back, still sealed. Sherlock was close to killing her as he glared at her before looking away, gritting his teeth tightly.

Sarah said: "So these numbers – it's a cipher." Sherlock said tightly: "Exactly." He looked back down at his own work but paused when Sarah said: "And each pair of numbers is a word." Sherlock lifted his head, stunned, and he asked in a low voice: "How did you know that?"

He looked at her straight in the face for the first time. There was no possible way this woman was clever enough to figure that out- and he just couldn't be wrong about his deductions on two women in the course of two weeks. Sarah replied: "Well, two words have already been translated, here."

She showed the picture to Sherlock. He was almost relieved that he wasn't wrong but as soon as he saw the picture all other thoughts left him. "John. Rose." He called, and John replied: "Mmm?" He and Rose looked up from the kitchen table.

Sherlock stood up as he said urgently: "John, look at this." He tore open the bag and took out the photo as the two came into the room. He explained: "Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it."

Rose peered over to see the words written on the first two numbers of the message that had been sprayed onto the wall. Sherlock read: "'NINE', 'MILL'." John asked as he peered at the picture: "Does that mean 'millions'?"

Sherlock murmured: "Nine million quid. For what?" He put the picture down as he went to fetch his coat and scarf. He said urgently: "We need to know the end of this sentence." John demanded: "Where are you going?"

"To the museum; to the restoration room." He grimaced in exasperation at himself as he said: "Oh, we must have been staring right at it." John asked, confused: "At-at what?" Rose's eyes meanwhile lit up in understanding.

Sherlock nodded at her as he replied: "The _book_ , John. The _book_ – the key to cracking the cipher!" He brandished the picture at John as he explained: "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk." And with that, he ran out the door, and seconds later they heard the front door slam shut behind him too.

John looked dumbfounded and Rose told him: "I'll join him today, you two enjoy the rest of the night." She turned to Sarah as she said apologetically: "Sorry we sort of ruined your date, but I hope it wasn't all bad for you and John." With that the girl took off, John thanking the heavens for her presence.

Rose followed Sherlock out just as he was returning a book he'd apparently knocked out of a tourist's hands in his rush. He was saying: "Entschuldigen Sie, bitte." Rose was surprised- it was German for 'Forgive me, please.' She didn't know he could speak.

Rose saw the book as Sherlock handed it back to the tourist who was saying sarcastically: "Ja, danke." The man took the book as he turned away, continuing to grumble to his wife while Sherlock tried to hail a taxi but Rose's mind was racing.

The tourist had been holding a 'London A-Z' and there was something there. She recalled it- she'd seen it in Van Coon's book pile. She remembered Sherlock's words: _'A book that everybody would own.'_

She ran to the tall detective, grabbing him urgently as she said: "Sherlock, the book it's-!" His eyes met hers and she saw that he'd just realized it too. He looked at her in surprise, seeing the same realization in her eyes -no one, except of genius mind, should've made the leap that quickly, not from just seeing the book passing before their eyes.

"Come on!" She urged and he broke out of his thoughts. He nodded and he ran back to the tourists, Rose right behind him as he shouted: "Please, wait! Bitte! ( _Please_ )" The coupled turned back to look at him in confusion as he ran up and then the man shouted as Sherlock snatched his copy of 'London A-Z': "Hey, du! Was macht du?"

Rose recognized it as: 'Hey, you! What are you doing?' Sherlock just said sharply: "Minute!" asking for a minute. The man demanded for his book back but when Sherlock ignored him he gave up, waving his head exasperated at the 'crazy English man'.

Rose also ignored the German man, peering over Sherlock's shoulder as he muttered while he flipped urgently: "Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen, entry one ..." He stopped and used his index finger to find the word. Rose's eyes widened as she read: 'Deadmans Lane NW9'.

Sherlock lifted his head as he murmured: "Dead man. They _were_ threatening to kill them." Rose murmured: "The warning." He nodded as he said: "It's the first cipher." He pulled out the photograph of the message on the wall from his pocket, Rose taking the book from him so he could dig for a pen.

She then handed him the book and read the numbers for him from the photograph, taking the pen as well so they could work faster together. "Thirty-seven, nine; thirty-seven, nine ..." He read out to her: "For…"

They made quick progress and soon Sherlock was looking up the final word urgently and he read out to Rose: "Tramway" She wrote it and she read to him, her voice becoming increasingly horrified: "NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK …" She looked up at him and he said with her: "TRAMWAY."

They turned and raced for the flat immediately. "Sherlock, but the pin…" Rose gasped and he just shouted back: "We can find it! We need to tell John first!" Rose groaned at John's interrupted date- again- but followed Sherlock, knowing this was important.

Sherlock slammed the front door open as he shouted: "John! John! I've got it!" He spotted the empty kitchen and turned to the living room, brandishing to book as he said triumphantly: "The cipher!" Rose entered the kitchen and frowned at the clean utensils sitting on the two trays. Something was wrong.

Sherlock was saying: "The book! It's the London A to Z that they're using..." He trailed off and Rose turned to the living room to see why. She paled as she saw the yellow paint, the same paint as the ciphers in the photographs, splayed across the windows in the numbers 15, 1. 'Dead man.'

"Oh, God." Rose whispered while Sherlock stared silently in horror.


	4. General Shan

Sherlock rushed over to his bookcase, muttering: "Tramway." He stood staring at his books frantically as he searched for something with his eyes. Rose looked at him in surprise, as he seemed to have lost the ability to think clearly for just that moment.

He finally grabbed the map of London, and Rose cleared the desk a little so that he could lay the map flat. He threw it on the desk and he scanned it quickly, before he pointed as he breathed: "There." He turned and ran, Rose right behind him.

"Sherlock, you need to be calm." Rose warned as they climbed into a cab and he snapped: "I am calm." "No, you aren't." She pointed out and he grit his teeth. "You won't be much use if you can't use that brain of yours clearly." She added and he took deep breaths as they waited anxiously for the cab to arrive.

They finally stopped at the rendezvous point, and Sherlock gestured for her to be quiet. They snuck in quietly and carefully, and as they approached the group in the center of the tunnel, Rose spotted Sarah, gagged and tied to a chair, right before the crossbow from the circus show. The sandbag had been split and the weight was steadily dropping towards the trigger while Sarah struggled in vain and whimpered in terror.

John was tied to a chair and he was sporting a bloody wound on the side of his head- most likely from where they'd hit to knock out before they dragged him here. John was trying desperately to get free and trying to reason with the woman standing before him.

Rose recognized her from the show; apparently she was the leader of this group and for some reason thought John was Sherlock. Sherlock urged Rose to stay put behind a barrel and she did as she was told while he stepped closer quietly.

The woman was saying as she motioned to the crossbow: "You've seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends." John shouted frantically and desperately: " _I'm not Sherlock Holmes!_ "

The woman scoffed: "I don't believe you." And Sherlock called as he stepped out enough that only his shadow was visible at the far side of the tunnel: "You should, you know." The woman spun as he continued: "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him." He disappeared into the darkness as the woman cocked her pistol at him, while one of the Chinese thugs hurried towards where he'd disappeared.

Sherlock called from the shadows: "How would _you_ describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?" John muttered: "Late?" Rose suppressed a smile while Sherlock continued, addressing the gang leader: "That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second."

Rose was impressed with his knowledge while the woman snapped: "Well?" Sherlock replied: "Well ..." He stepped out and whacked the thug who'd come near with a metal pipe, causing him to collapse, unconscious.

He disappeared back into the darkness as he continued rapidly: "... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit _you."_

Rose saw the woman hesitate and Sherlock dashed out, kicking a burning trashcan over. It pettered out, throwing more of the tunnel into darkness and Rose used the cover to start moving closer, heading towards John and Sarah.

She was just nearing them when she saw Sherlock near Sarah, starting to untie the woman's bonds. Rose's eyes widened at this display of emotion from Sherlock- he cared enough to try save the woman even though it might cost him.

And sure enough it did: before he could finish untying Sarah, one man saw him and rushed Sherlock. He looped a long red scarf around Sherlock's neck, choking him and pulling him away from Sarah. The two continued to struggle, and John began to stagger forward, trying to reach Sarah before the arrow flew at her.

But as he tried to move, John fell over, and he resorted to crawling over as the weight lowered ever closer down. And Rose could see that neither man was going to make it in time. In that split-second before the weight could touch the crossbow, she made her decision.

Rose dashed out and grabbed Sarah, swinging her down just as John kicked the crossbow, turning its aim away. It released and hit the man choking Sherlock. The man gasped as the arrow pierced his chest and Rose turned to see it was the acrobat- Zhi zhu. She watched as he collapsed, the life going out of his eyes.

Sherlock removed the cloth on his neck, still gasping when they heard footsteps running away. He turned sharply towards the sound and Rose glanced to see the receding shadow of the woman whom Sherlock would later explain was General Shan- the leader of the Black Lotus Tong, the Chinese crime syndicate.

Rose turned away and silently began to help Sarah out of her bonds as the older woman gasped in fear, her eyes shining with tears. Sherlock turned at the sound, and he moved to help Rose, murmuring softly to the distraught woman: "It's alright."

John was struggling on the ground but Sherlock focused on the whimpering woman as he soothed: "You're gonna be alright. It's over now. It's over." He removed her gag as Rose removed the last of her bonds.

Sarah began to sob and Rose hugged the woman tightly. Sherlock moved to John and Sarah looked over at John over Rose's shoulder as she clutched the younger woman for comfort. John tried a smile and he joked half-heartedly: "Don't worry. Next date won't be like this."

Sarah sobbed into Rose as Sherlock untied John, glancing over his shoulder at where Shan had disappeared, looking almost wistful. Rose just silently held the woman, giving her the warmth and comfort she needed.

When the police arrived, the four walked out at last. Sarah was wrapped firmly in a blanket while John hugged her, and Rose walked beside Sherlock. The consulting detective kept glancing concernedly at the girl from the corner of his eye, but he didn't say anything.

They spotted Dimmock standing by a police car, and Sherlock and Rose let John and Sarah walk ahead as the former pair stopped to face the DI. Sherlock said quietly as Rose waited for him: "We'll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report."

"Mr Holmes-" Dimmock began, but Sherlock cut in as he said derisively: "I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career." Dimmock paused before he replied in defeat: "I go where you point me."

Sherlock turned, walking away with Rose beside him as he replied: "Exactly." Dimmock just watched them ruefully as the consulting detective and the mysterious girl disappeared down the street.

As they walked out of hearing distance from the DI, Sherlock glanced at Rose and he murmured: "Are you alright?" She glanced at him in surprise. "Hmm?" She asked and he clarified: "You did just see a man die and your friends almost murdered."

She thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged as she said: "Yes, but he was a killer. He needed to be stopped and John, Sarah, and you are all safe now." Sherlock stopped walking abruptly and she paused as well, looking up at him curiously. He appeared stunned as he stared at her.

"You… you consider me a friend?" He asked in disbelief. Rose realized what was the matter and she smiled, almost ruefully. "I hated you when we first met." She informed him and he nodded stiffly. "And you're still rude." She added and he frowned as he muttered: "Fine, yes."

Rose softened as she said: "But yes… I think of you as a friend. Nothing like trauma to help strengthen a bond, right?" She teased and Sherlock stared at her in surprise. "I suppose…" he murmured as she turned and walked off. He followed, and his heart suddenly felt a little lighter. But Rose's face, hidden in the shadows for a moment, darkened just a little.

* * *

Sherlock explained about the code and the message to John the next morning while Rose slept in, exhausted from the trials the previous few days. As soon as he was done, he and John went back to the bank. John went to explain to Sebastian what Sherlock had solved, and also get their reward.

Sherlock meanwhile went to deliver the stunning news to Van Coon's secretary. They read about the story in the papers the morning after, and Sherlock almost groaned at the title: 'Who wants to be a million-hair'.

John mused as Sherlock folded the papers in disgust: "Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night." Sherlock muttered: "He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him.

John jested: "Hmm. Should've just got her a lucky cat." Sherlock smiled briefly but then looked away. His eyes unfocused and he became lost in thought. John saw it and he sighed.

"You _mind_ , don't you?" John asked, and Sherlock looked at him, asking: "What?" John clarified: "That she escaped – General Shan. It's not enough that we got her two henchmen." Sherlock sighed as he said: "It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. You and I, we barely scratched the surface."

John pointed out, trying to comfort his friend: "You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that _he_ knows it." Sherlock shook his head as he said softly: "No. No. I cracked _this_ code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." He unfurled the paper again, disappearing behind it to read.

They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock suddenly asked: "Where's Rose?" John looked at him in surprise but his face was hidden behind the papers. "Sorry?" John asked, not believing what he'd just heard.

"Haven't seen her since we got back." Sherlock said lightly but John grinned. "Since when did you care?" John asked, almost teasing and Sherlock retorted sharply: "I don't." "Right…" John said amused.

Sherlock waited before he finally snapped and asked: "Well?" John grinned and he shrugged: "She was tired yesterday so she slept in. Can't blame her, she needs it with her job at Bart's as well. And today, she had work so she's gone out. Went out before you got up, actually."

Sherlock nodded. John watched his friend, a new idea forming. It seemed impossible… and yet Rose had done the impossible. She had proven Sherlock wrong. He grinned and decided he'd just watch quietly but somehow he knew he was in for an entertaining show.

Sherlock's mind, meanwhile, was racing. The woman had proved him wrong- she'd been an intellect like him and he hadn't seen it. How was that possible? It wasn't even like she was trying to hide it, clearly, since she'd displayed it readily enough once he'd stopped dismissing her. But even when he knew that, he couldn't read anything more off of her.

He recalled the long blonde hair, obviously dyed as he'd seen hints of a dark brown in her roots, and he remembered her green eyes glinting like emeralds as they shone with intelligence that he had somehow missed when he'd first met her. _Why? Who are you, Rosanne Jones?_ Sherlock wondered.

* * *

Somewhere far away, Shan sat before a desk, staring at the computer that was sitting on it. She was communicating through a video camera, but her contact was faceless and voiceless as he simply typed his responses along with a single initial: 'M'.

Shan said carefully and gratefully: "Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks." There was a pause before the written response came: "M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS. IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS"

Shan pleaded softly: "We did not anticipate ... we did not know this man would come. This Sherlock Holmes. And now your safety is compromised." She added concernedly, her brows furrowing in worry.

The reply came: "M: THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME" Shan said sincerely but with a hint of fear: "I will not reveal your identity." There was a pause and then the reply came: "M: I AM CERTAIN."

A single, red light- a rifle's laser sight- appeared in the center of her forehead as her face fell. Shan slowly looked up and stared at the masked assassin standing on the rooftop of the building opposite. She gazed into the only part of the assassin that was visible, bright eyes above the mask wrapped firmly around the sniper's nose and mouth, and Shan pleaded softly: "Please."

A single shot rang out, and there was the sound of shattering glass. And the thump of a body as it slumped over- dead.


	5. Bomb

About a week later, Rose was heading back from Bart's, satisfied with a day's job well done and humming cheerily as she walked, But as she was passing an empty alley, the phone rang… inside an empty phone booth. She paused to stare at it, before shrugging it off and carrying on walking.

But then the phone in the next phone booth also rang as she passed by, and stopped as soon as she was out of reach. Rose frowned as she glanced back at it and when the next phone rang, she stopped walking. She glanced at it curiously and then stepped into the booth, answering the phone carefully and silently.

"Good afternon, Miss Jones." A male voice almost purred, and Rose frowned some more. "Please, get in the car." She looked up to see a sleek black car pulling up before the booth, its windows tinted so darkly she couldn't see inside. "Why?" She demanded and the voice sighed.

"If you will look up," she did as he said, "you will see a security camera." She spotted it and watched as it swiveled so that it wasn't pointing at her anymore. "Now, if you look across-" "You'll do it to all the cameras." Rose muttered. She pursed her lips before she hung up and stepped out of the booth.

A well-dressed man stepped out of the front passenger seat and opened the back door for her. Rose slid inside and glanced at the woman sitting in the seat beside her, never lifting her eyes off her phone. The door shut, the man climbed back in and the car smoothly pulled away. Rose sat the entire journey in silence, waiting.

They arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. She lifted a brow but stepped out when the man opened her door for her. The brown-haired woman had also gotten out and Rose silently followed the woman towards the entrance as two armed men stepped up and came to stand before her.

One raised a hand for permission and she lifted both arms in the air with a sigh as he patted her down for weapons. Coming up clean, he then escorted her inside, leading her deep within until she came to an empty storage room; empty except for a chair in the center of the room and a middle-aged man standing across from it, leaning somewhat casually on an umbrella.

Rose sighed again as she stopped beside the chair and appraised the man. He had a receding hairline, but he wasn't trying to hide it as his dark hair was slicked back in a smart fashion. His suit was expensive, most likely tailor-made and he sported a small potbelly. But it was his sharp eyes that gave the man away, and Rose knew instantly who he was.

"Please, sit down, Miss Jones." He offered, gesturing at the chair but Rose said coolly: "I'd prefer to stand, Mr. Holmes." He arched one brow as the only sign of surprise- this man hid his emotions very well. Much better than Sherlock, and as well as any person really could. _Politics_ , Rose's mind told her. Mycroft spoke again: "It seems, my brother was right to take an interest in you."

Rose lifted her brow as she looked at the man. "If you're referring to the fact that Sherlock misjudged his readings on me the first time, I'd hardly call it interest." She said, and Mycroft Holmes smiled at her. "Come now, Miss Jones. I am cleverer than my brother- those subtle hints to direct my mind will not work on me at all, even though it may sometimes work on my brother."

Rose pursed her lips and watched Mycroft with narrowed eyes. He continued: "So, let us be frank. You know Sherlock Holmes accepted you- he allowed you to join in on a case and since then he has become fond enough to let you into his flat every day."

Rose snorted as she said: "You know, the way you say it makes it sound indecent. I only go join John for a cup of tea." "And you engage in what some might call friendly banter with my brother- only, it is more often a battle of the minds as you try to gauge and read each other."

Rose shrugged in acknowledgement, adding: "He rarely has someone to bounce ideas with or to use his full intellect. It's not my fault I happen to be the only one near him." She said looking pointedly at Mycroft.

The man sighed and straightened. He didn't bother to pretend to read her personal information- she was too clever to fall for that, and he knew he needed to show her just what she would be dealing with, should Sherlock ever be hurt because of her.

"Miss Jones. You are a twenty-six year old woman, five foot six and roughly one hundred and fifteen pounds. You lost your parents and only family in a tragic accident when you were twelve years old. Struggled to stay afloat, moving through several orphanages because you were a difficult child with your superior intellect, cleverer than most adults even at that age but not mature enough to handle the stress and strain of you situation."

"You eventually left all institutions when you were sixteen, opting instead to become an emancipated minor. You took your GCE A-levels at that age: and passed all nine with flying colors, a remarkable feat but you hid that from the media to avoid the attention you neither cared for nor desired."

"Since then you studied at Cambridge, attaining a degree in chemistry in three years at the age of nineteen. You once again requested animosity and the news remained hidden. After that, you left the country to work in Switzerland, before returning to Britain last year. You worked for a local university and moved to Bart's after a professor recommended you in."

Rose just looked at Mycroft defiantly as he listed her history to her. He paused and looked at her levelly, before saying: "Several things become apparent from what I've found, Miss Jones." "Such as the fact that you are a creepy stalker?" She challenged and he ignored the jibe.

He said coldly: "You are always anxious to avoid attention, quite possibly because of what happened with your parents. You are also an intellect at a genius level, rivaling that of my brother, but managed to become quite a sociable woman that is managed by letting out your genii into a creative outlet- particularly highlighted in your Art and Design A-level. But despite that, you are just as untrusting of people as my brother."

She tensed a little as he narrowed his eyes and said flatly: "You are also an incredibly private person. It is unusual that it took my men a week to find information about you." She just shrugged and Mycroft came straight to the point. "Why are you living with Sherlock Holmes and why are you allowing him to have an interest in you?"

"We don't actually live together." Rose pointed out and he just looked at her pointedly. She huffed in annoyance as she said: "Look, I just needed a place close to Bart's and I liked Mrs. Hudson, plus the rent is cheap. It's not my fault Sherlock and I can now tolerate each other, and I actually like having someone that can keep up with me, too. That's all, I swear."

He leveled a look at her and he asked abruptly: "I could offer to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis if you kept an eye on him and gave me regular updates on how he is." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" She asked, and he shrugged as he said: "Because I worry about him."

She leveled an intense look at him and then said flatly: "No." He raised a brow again. "Could it be, you've learnt to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?" He asked incredulously and she bit out: "That's not really your business."

He watched her struggling to maintain her cool exterior and nodded. They stayed silent for a moment before he said: "Well, then, have a very good day, Miss Jones. I think we'll see each other again. I will be keeping an eye on him…"

He trailed off suggestively, his gaze looking at her intently. She just stared right back at him, waiting for him to break it off and leave. She huffed as Mycroft left without so much as a backward glance while his PA came up, speaking for the first time, but with her gaze still fixed on her phone, as she said: "I'm to take you home. Address?"

Rose stared after Mycroft with pursed lips before she turned and walked back with the woman to the car, saying defiantly: "221 Baker Street."

* * *

She walked into 221C, dumping her things in her room. She was tired now, after her work and Mycroft Holmes, but brightened considerably when she thought about a nice cup of hot tea. She'd made it back in time for John to have just gotten back, and it had become a regular business for her to join them for tea when she didn't have a night shift and when the boys weren't out on a case.

She could hear the men talking as she wandered back out and up the stairs. She heard John say: "…pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink." Oh, he must be talking about his blog, Rose realized and then she grinned. She could imagine Sherlock's reaction. John asked "Did you like it?"

Sherlock replied flippantly: "Erm, no." John asked as Rose walked in: "Why not? I thought you'd be flattered." She grinned and walked into the kitchen to make tea, ignoring the mess of chemicals and equipment Sherlock had left on the dining room table.

Sherlock meanwhile had snapped: "Flattered?" He quoted: "'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things'." And there it was.

John protested: "Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a ... " Sherlock interrupted mockingly: "Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way." Rose sighed and then winced as she opened the fridge to see a severed head inside.

She tinkered about to make tea without food, then, as Sherlock continued: "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister ... " John said quietly: "No, no..." But Sherlock continued over him: "... or who's sleeping with who ..." John muttered: "Whether the Earth goes round the Sun."

Sherlock groaned: "Not that again. It's not important!" Rose sighed as she heated the water. This was going to change into an argument, she could feel it. "Not impor..." John gaped in disbelief before saying to Sherlock: "It's primary school stuff. _How_ can you not know that?"

Sherlock groaned: "Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it." Rose sighed again as John repeated incredulously: "'Deleted it'?" Rose heard Sherlock shift from where he'd been lying on the sofa, most likely sitting up to face John as he snapped: "Listen. This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. "

He said with disgust: "Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?" There was a silence before John blurted out: "But it's the solar system! Rose, tell him!"

Rose just shook her head, refusing to become a part of the argument as Sherlock groaned and cried: "Oh, hell! What does that matter?!" He snapped mockingly: "So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference."

He added as he ran his hands furiously through his hair in frustration: "All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots." He paused before he finished coldly: "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

Rose winced. She heard Sherlock fling something aside and shift on the sofa again- most likely sulking. She looked out the kitchen door to see John looking slightly hurt for a minute while there was a clatter downstairs as the front door opened- most likely Mrs. Hudson returning home.

Rose watched as John got up to leave again, giving him a sympathetic glance while Sherlock called: "Where are you going?" John snapped: "Out. I need some air." Rose nodded at him as he left and he just grimaced at her. She walked out of the kitchen as Mrs. Hudson came in after bumping into John on the staircase.

Mrs. Hudson knocked lightly on the open door, hooting: "Ooh-ooh!" She smiled and said: "Hello, Rose dear." "Hi Mrs. Hudson." The blonde smiled at the older woman and the older woman turned to Sherlock as she asked: "Have you two had a little domestic?"

She then walked into the kitchen to put down some groceries she'd picked up for the boys while Rose moved further into the sitting room, noting Sherlock sulking on the sofa, still in his pajamas and his dressing gown. She raised a brow silently as she saw the wall behind Sherlock. She grinned- she couldn't wait for Mrs. Hudson's reaction when she saw it.

Sherlock flailed upright, starting a little to see Rose now sitting in his chair as she watched him with amusement. He just nodded at her as he stepped over the coffee table on his way over to the windows to watch after John as said man left.

Mrs. Hudson murmured as they heard the front door shut: "Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Sherlock sulked as he watched the street: "Look at that, Mrs Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful." Rose watched in amusement as he grimaced. "Isn't it _hateful_?" He complained.

"Or pleasant." Rose teased and he glanced at her while Mrs. Hudson said: "Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up." She said as she walked out into the sitting room and towards the door to the flat. Rose smiled- only Mrs. Hudson could call a murder 'nice'.

Sherlock murmured sadly: "Can't come too soon." Mrs. Hudson however paused and Rose grinned as the older woman stared at the wall Rose had noticed earlier. The landlady demanded: "Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!" Sherlock smirked and turned back to look at the wall, admiring his work. He was quite proud of the smiley face he'd spray-painted and then fired several shots into in his boredom.

Mrs. Hudson clearly didn't appreciate it as she said angrily: "I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" She stormed off down the stairs as Rose stood up. Sherlock was grinning at the wall as Rose told him: "You shouldn't aggravate them like that."

He rolled his eyes at her but she just smiled up at him from where her head just touched level with his nose, using her puppy-eyes. His eyes narrowed at her but he was interrupted by a massive explosion from across the street.

He and Rose were flung to the side in the blast, both landing on the floor as the windows shattered. Both groaned, Rose in particular as Sherlock had landed partially on top of her. His shoulder had whacked the side of her head while his arm had landed right across the top her shoulders, whacking her neck. The double impact caused her to wheeze and blur her vision as her head also ached from where it had hit the floor as well.

Sherlock groaned as his arm hurt from where it had hit the woman's shoulders and from the impact of falling face-first onto the floor. He was also uncomfortably aware that part of his side had landed on top of the blonde girl, including his right leg over her right, causing a rather private part to have been hit by her hipbone. He groaned again as he rolled off her while she moaned in pain, and they both lay there in the debris with their heads reeling.


	6. It Begins

After spending the night cleaning up most of the debris in both the boys' and Rose's flats, the pair separated. Rose left to take a shower and change after Sherlock checked her once more for a concussion.

He'd refused to allow her to check him, and she didn't press the issue, deciding he could probably judge for himself. They'd looked out to see the entire wall across the street from them had been blown away, hence the force of the blast that had impacted them.

Luckily, no-one appeared to have been hurt so far, including in their flat. She returned upstairs, refreshed and feeling much better, to see that John had come back… and to see Mycroft sitting before his brother. All three men turned to look at her as she walked in.

John immediately asked: "Rose, are you alright? Were you hurt?" She shook her head as she answered: "No, I probably sustained the most damage from where I hit my head." John frowned as he said: "Looks like a bit of a bruise on your neck."

She nodded as she said: "Probably from where Sherlock's arm whacked me, but it doesn't hurt so it's alright. I don't think it'll even last." He nodded and they turned back to the Holmes brothers.

Mycroft turned his attention away from the young woman to look at his brother as Sherlock also refocused. He plucked the strings of his violin, which he was casually holding in his hands, as he said to his brother: "I can't."

Rose and John looked at the pair, confused while Mycroft repeated: "'Can't'?" Sherlock continued to pluck his violin as he dismissed: "The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." John stared at the man in disbelief while Rose glanced out the patched up windows as Mycroft scolded: "Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

Sherlock merely flicked his fingers across the strings as he asked mockingly: "How's the diet?" Mycroft replied calmly: " _Fine_." He then added: "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

John looked surprised as he looked up from where'd been examining the debris. "What?" He asked, confused as to why Mycroft was asking him. Mycroft explained: "I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

Sherlock snapped: "If you're so keen, why don't _you_ investigate it?" Mycroft scoffed: "No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ..." He trailed off as he eyed Rose suddenly while the three residents looked at him with surprise, and Sherlock finally looked somewhat interested.

Mycroft covered: "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" He smiled, his face tinged with warning to forget what he'd just said, and Sherlock turned back to his violin irritably. Mycroft continued: "Besides, a case like this, it requires ..." he grimaced a little in distaste, "legwork."

Sherlock plucked a false note in his annoyance; he then turned to John, who was absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He ignored his brother as he asked John: "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

Mycroft had turned to look down at his pocket watch and corrected without even looking up: "Sofa, Sherlock." At the same time, Rose had said: "Sofa." There was a pause as all three men looked at Rose, who looked a little embarrassed. "Er…" she said as she looked at Mycroft uncertainly.

He was looking at her with narrowed eyes as he finished his sentence slowly: "It was the sofa." Sherlock looked momentarily amused at his brother's appraisal of the woman, before he returned his gaze to John, glancing him up and down. He muttered: "Oh yes, of course."

John looked bewildered as he asked: " _How ...?_ Oh, never mind." John sat down on the coffee table, glancing at Rose and gesturing at her to join him. She shook her head while Mycroft smiled at John as he said condescendingly: "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals."

Sherlock gave Mycroft a dark look before looking over at Rose who'd leaned against the doorway. He stood up as Mycroft continued speaking to John: "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."

Sherlock gestured to his chair and Rose walked over as John replied simply: "I'm never bored." Mycroft's attention had turned to watch Rose sit in Sherlock's chair as Sherlock moved to grab his bow. Mycroft said slowly to John, still watching the pair with narrowed eyes: "Good. That's good, isn't it?"

Sherlock began to examine his bow as he leant against his armchair. Mycroft stood up, holding out a folder to Sherlock who just stared at both it and his brother in distaste. Mycroft's jaw clenched as he moved to give the folder to John, saying out loud: "Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends."

John looked surprised as he took the folder, while Mycroft explained: "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in." John asked: "Jumped in front of a train?" Mycroft replied: "Seems the logical assumption."

John looked up at Mycroft, quirking a brief smile as he asked: "But ...?" Mycroft just repeated: "'But'?" John pointed out: "Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." Rose and Sherlock snorted, Sherlock smirking.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at them as he continued: "The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called." Mycroft turned his attention back to Sherlock while John started flicking through the folder.

Mycroft continued: "The plans for it were on a memory stick." John chuckled a little as he said: "That wasn't very clever." Sherlock smiled at that while Rose laughed. Mycroft turned back to John as he said with a mirthless smile: "It's not the only copy."

John hummed and Mycroft continued, becoming serious again: "But it _is_ secret. And missing." "Top secret?" John asked, and Mycroft confirmed, with a cautious glance at Rose: "Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands."

Mycroft then turned to Sherlock fully as he continued: "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock." Sherlock continued to merely look bored and Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he said warningly: "Don't make me order you."

Sherlock took a sharp breath through his nose and he raised his violin to his shoulder. He told his brother in a soft voice: "I'd like to see you try." Mycroft quirked a brow as he murmured threateningly: "Think it over."

Sherlock just stared coolly at his brother as Mycroft nodded at Rose. "Miss Jones." He greeted and she just nodded at him from her seat as he turned to shake John's hand, saying: "Goodbye, John."

John stood politely and shook his hand. Mycroft smiled as he said suggestively: "See you _very_ soon." John looked a little nervous and Sherlock began to play a short irritating sequence, causing Mycroft to roll his eyes in a mix of exasperation and irritation.

As soon as Mycroft was out the flat, he stopped with an annoyed squeak of his bow on the strings, making Rose wince. John sat back down as Rose commented: "I don't think he likes me." Sherlock snorted a laugh while John smiled over at her.

"He's just always like that." He assured her and Rose laughed. She teased: "He seems to like you. Wonder if it's because he's waiting for the happy announcement between you and Sherlock." John groaned while Sherlock's lips quirked. John then turned to Sherlock as they heard the front door shut.

"Why'd you lie?" He asked Sherlock and Sherlock looked at him. John pointed out: "You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Why shouldn't I?"

John's face took on a look of realization as he exclaimed: "Oh!" He nodded as he murmured: "Nice." Sherlock didn't look at him as he scratched the end of his bow on his head and John said: "Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Rose's lips quirked at John but suddenly Sherlock's phone rang. He passed his bow to Rose so he could reach into his jacket for his cell. She examined it as Sherlock answered his phone: "Sherlock Holmes."

He paused and Rose looked up to see his face change, his eyes lighting up intensely as he murmured: "Of course. How could I refuse?" He hung up and set his violin down as he told the other two: "Lestrade. I've been summoned"

He walked towards the flat door as he added, looking at John: "Coming?" "If you want me to." John said hesitantly and Sherlock replied as he grabbed his coat: "Of course." He turned to the room again, saying a little sarcastically: "I'd be lost without my blogger."

John pulled a face, but he nodded as he got up. Sherlock then turned to Rose still in his chair. "You coming?" He asked and she asked in return: "Does it have to do with our destroyed windows?" He smiled enigmatically and she got up to follow them out.

* * *

They followed DI Lestrade, who'd looked surprised to see Rose but didn't question it when Sherlock gave him a look, into Scotland Yard. He said to Sherlock as they walked towards the DI's office: "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

Sherlock replied: "Obviously." Lestrade said: "You'll love this. That explosion ..." Sherlock briefly exchanged glares with a female officer as they walked past the woman's desk, before he asked: "Gas leak, yes?" Rose looked at the woman with interest, noting her nameplate stated her as 'Detective Sergeant Donovan.'

"No." Lestrade replied to Sherlock and Sherlock clarified: "No?" Lestrade explained as they walked into his office: "No. Made to _look_ like one." John asked in confusion: "What?"

Lestrade explained as he stopped by his desk, and Sherlock and Rose noted an envelope sitting there: "Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box. A _very_ strong box – and inside it was this."

He pointed at the envelope that had 'Sherlock Holmes' written on it in blue ink, just as Rose received a text. She checked it quickly while Sherlock asked Lestrade: "You haven't opened it?"

Lestrade shrugged as he pointed out: "It's addressed to you, isn't it?" He added: "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Sherlock reached for the envelope as he muttered: "How reassuring."

He took the envelope over to a lamp, placing it under the light as he examined it. Rose joined him, as he slightly tiled the envelope. "Hm, nice stationery." She commented and he added in a murmur: "Bohemian."

Lestrade looked at them, staring at Rose in particular as he asked in surprise: "What?" Sherlock explained: "From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" He added the question like an afterthought, and Lestrade confirmed: "No."

Sherlock raised the envelope closer as he murmured: "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib." John repeated bewildered: "'She'?" Sherlock muttered: "Obviously."

Rose didn't comment while John muttered, annoyed: "Obviously." Donovan walked in with some files as Sherlock had picked up a letter opener and carefully slit the envelope open.

He peered inside and Rose's eyes widened while Sherlock's mouth parted a little, both surprise at the contents inside. He reached in and pulled out the pink iPhone and John's mouth also opened as he muttered in shock: "But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone."

Lestrade asked: "What, from 'The Study in Pink'?" Rose looked at the DI in surprise while Sherlock was examining the phone, murmuring: "Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ..."

He broke off as he fully absorbed what Lestrade had said. His face scrunched in distaste as he turned to the DI, demanding irritably: "'The Study in Pink'? You read his blog?" Rose was also surprised- she hadn't thought the DI would be interested.

Lestrade scoffed: "Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you _really_ not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Donovan sniggered at that and Rose raised her while Sherlock turned to the sergeant to glare at her.

The Sergeant left and Sherlock returned his attention to the phone, muttering: "It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." He was looking at the connection sockets, all clean and still shiny.

He continued: "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means," he looked at John accusingly as he spat, "your blog has a far wider readership." Rose wrinkled her nose sympathetically at John.

Poor John turned away a little guiltily, trying to ignore the jibe, while Sherlock turned back to the phone, switching it on. It immediately to a voice alert, which informed them: "You have one new message."

The message played and Rose frowned. It played four Greenwich pips and then one longer beep at the very end. John asked confused: "Is that it?" Sherlock muttered as he stared at the phone: "No. That's not it."

The phone beeped as there was a text message and Sherlock opened it to reveal a photograph. They all crowded around to see a photograph of a room and Rose immediately paled while Sherlock's grip tightened on the phone.

The photograph was of her spare room, with its freshly painted walls and a fireplace at one side. It was unfurnished as it was a room Rose didn't use, but it was still clean and well-kept.

Sherlock glanced at her while John was looking as though he was trying to remember where he'd seen the room. Lestrade was just puzzled. The DI murmured: "What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips."

Sherlock was still gazing concernedly at Rose as he murmured thoughtfully: "It's a warning." Rose's lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed in thought while John repeated questioningly: "A warning?"

Sherlock turned to him as he explained: "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again." He looked at Rose but she was staring into space, still lost in thought.

John murmured: "Where is that place?" Sherlock hesitated but Rose said bluntly as she returned to the present: "It's my spare room." John looked startled while Sherlock began to walk out.

John asked quickly, now worried: "H-hang on. _What's_ gonna happen again?" He called anxiously as Rose followed Sherlock out. Sherlock called back in explanation: "Boom!"


	7. The Great Game

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked Rose quietly as they stepped out into the streets, and she replied just as quietly: "Fine." He glanced at the composed woman and asked: "Who was that earlier? That texted you?"

She said quietly: "My ex-boyfriend- he texts me every so often, but I generally don't reply." Sherlock looked at her as they hailed a cab, John and Lestrade beside them. "Why?" He asked and she looked up at him.

"Because I don't want to encourage him." He nodded and they all clambered into the cab. When they pulled up to 221 Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson came out, startled by the noise.

"Goodness, what is it?" She asked them as Rose stepped forward to unlock her door. She paused as she glanced at the door lock. Sherlock murmured as he also looked at it: "The door's been opened recently."

Mrs. Hudson said: "Well, it's probably Rose." Rose said tersely: "It's been opened since I left it this morning. And it's been left unlocked." She pushed her door open to indicate and it slid open. John and Lestrade looked concerned while Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"You still have your spare keys?" He asked and the landlady nodded as she said: "Yes, they're hanging on the peg in my kitchen, and I've been there all day." Rose murmured: "And I have the only other key." Sherlock moved into the flat, Rose following him as she led the other two men in.

Mrs. Hudson was saying: "It was lovely when Rose took this flat, no one was interested before. The damp, I expect. Thankfully Rose cleared that all up for me." John and Lestrade just walked in after Rose as Mrs. Hudson continued: "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the walls ..." She trailed off as Lestrade closed the door behind him and she muttered as she went back to her own flat, saying in exasperation: "Oh! Men!"

Rose showed them into the downstairs flat and pointed them to the spare room. Sherlock took the lead, pushing the door open carefully to show the room, exactly as the photograph had it… except for a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the room, their toes pointed to the door.

They all paused as they took the sight in, and John held Rose's shoulders sympathetically as the woman stared with furrowed brows at the shoes. John murmured: "Shoes." Sherlock began to walk towards the trainers when John warned: "He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stopped before he moved cautiously up to the shoes. He crouched down and placed his hands carefully on the ground, beginning to lean in to examine the trainers when a phone rang. He flinched while they all looked alarmed. John and Lestrade looked around while Rose's eyes zeroed in on Sherlock's coat pocket.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly before standing up, pulling off his glove and taking the pink iPhone out of his pocket. John and Lestrade looked bewildered while Rose's eyes narrowed in thought. He glanced at it to see a blocked number and paused for a second before he answered it, placing it on speaker. "Hello?" He asked.

A woman's voice drew a shaky breath before she spoke through tears: "H-hello ... sexy." John and Lestrade exchanged puzzled looks as the woman stifled a sob and Rose stepped closer to Sherlock. She stood by his shoulder as he asked: "Who's this?" The woman replied slowly, still sobbing a little: "I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he asked: "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" The woman said shakily: "I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing … and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out." She began to sob and Sherlock's eyes unfocused as he fell into thought. He murmured softly: "The curtain rises."

"What?" John asked while Rose frowned at him and Sherlock just muttered: "Nothing." John asked sharply: "No, what did you mean?" Sherlock replied, tilting his head a little to John: "I've been expecting this for some time." "Why?" Rose asked quietly, when the crying woman said: "Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."

The woman hung up as she sobbed and they stood in silence for a while. Sherlock dismissed Lestrade for the moment, before he, Rose and John left for Bart's.

* * *

Sherlock was working in the lab, having gained access thanks to Rose. She stood watching him as he worked through several experiments, and they tossed ideas softly between each other while John went to work briefly.

He returned and watched them in silence as Sherlock was looking through a microscope, a computer running scans on what he'd been checking. Rose just stood to the side. Both men assumed it was because she was shaken after her flat was broken into, and left her alone with her thoughts as she clenched her arms, folded across her chest while she watched Sherlock work.

John finally asked: "So, who d'you suppose it was?" A phone trilled a text, one of several over the past hour that he'd ignored. Sherlock asked John, ignoring the text- again- as he was momentarily distracted by John's question: "Hmm?"

John clarified: "The woman on the phone – the crying woman." Sherlock dismissed: "Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there." John said in exasperation: "For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads." Rose pursed her lips as Sherlock muttered: "You're not going to be much use to her." He checked the computer's progress, and seeing none so far he went back to his microscope.

John asked desperately: "Are-are they _trying_ to trace it, trace the call?" Sherlock dismissed: "The bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock's phone trilled another text alert and he said at last: "Pass me my phone." John looked around while Rose sighed.

"Where is it?" John asked and Sherlock replied: "Jacket." John straightened and stared at Sherlock in complete disbelief. Rose finally moved, reaching in gently to fetch Sherlock's phone from his jacket pocket. "Thank you." He said as John walked over, surprised that Sherlock had allowed Rose to reach in personally and thanked her to boot.

She handed the phone to John, not bothering to look. John looked confused as he took it, but he glanced at it and said: "Text from your brother." "Delete it." Sherlock replied immediately while Rose leaned back again, resuming her position. John repeated incredulously: "Delete it?"

Sherlock explained without once moving his eyes away from his microscope: "Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it." John was reading the message and he retorted: "Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

Sherlock finally raised his head as he asked in exasperation: "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" John sighed as he asked: "His what?" Sherlock explained: "Mycroft never texts if he can talk." He finally turned to John as he said: "Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story."

He turned back to the microscope as he added: "The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" John placed Sherlock's phone on the table as he murmured: "Try and remember there's a woman here who might die."

"What for?" Sherlock demanded as he looked at John again. He mocked: "This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?" John looked at him angrily as he said: "That bomber was inside Rose's flat. Do you not even care about that?"

"Why should I?" Sherlock retorted while Rose rolled her eyes. John looked furious and Rose said softly: "No, John, it's alright." Sherlock remained impassive as John looked away in disbelief when suddenly the computer beeped. Sherlock turned to it in delight as he cried: "Ah!"

The computer was saying: 'Search Complete' when he looked at it, just as the door opened and Molly walked in. Rose smiled at her and the other woman returned it as she asked Sherlock: "Any luck?" Sherlock replied triumphantly: "Oh, yes!"

As Molly walked over, John moved to Sherlock's other side, joining Rose when suddenly the door opened again and a man who looked about Sherlock's age walked in, wearing slacks and a T-shirt. He stopped shyly by the door as he saw them all looking at him and he said apologetically: "Oh, sorry. I didn't ..."

"Jim!" Molly said delightedly, and Rose sent a glance at the woman, who didn't notice as she beamed at the man, calling: "Hi!" The man made to leave again, looking awkward, but Molly said quickly: "Come in! Come in!" Sherlock looked at Molly briefly, scanning her, before he went back to his microscope. The man, Jim came into the room again, closing the door behind him.

He walked towards them as Molly introduced: "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly gestured at Sherlock and Jim said in recognition: "Ah!" Molly then gestured at Rose: "And this is my friend, Rosanne Jones." Rose smiled at the man politely and he grinned at her widely as Molly looked at John.

She said blankly: "And, uh ... sorry." She apologized as she failed to remember who he was and John sighed as he said: "John Watson. Hi." Jim turned to Sherlock's back as he murmured: "Hi. So you're Sherlock Holmes." He said admiringly, staring at Sherlock. John shifted uncomfortably while Rose's eyes darted over the man as he continued: "Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

He walked closer to Sherlock, forcing John to step back as he walked to stand next to the table by Sherlock while Molly explained: "Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." She and Jim giggled while Rose pursed her lips. Sherlock glanced briefly at Jim, then returned to his microscope as he muttered: "Gay."

Molly's smile faded as she said: "Sorry, what?" Sherlock lifted his head as thought realizing what he'd said aloud and said: "Nothing. Um." He covered it with a fake smile as he said to Jim: "Hey."

Jim smiled admiringly as he said softly: "Hey." He lowered his hand but in doing so, knocked a metal dish off the edge of the table and he scrambled to pick it up as he giggled nervously, apologizing: "Sorry! Sorry!"

John turned away, face-palming while Sherlock looked incredibly irritated. Rose saw Jim slip something under the dish as he replaced it on the table and she looked at him, a little impressed by his nimble actions considering how he acted like a bumbling idiot. Jim, not noticing, scratched his arm nervously as he wandered back to Molly's side.

Jim murmured to her as he gave her a slight hug: "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at The Fox, 'bout six-ish?" Molly nodded and gave him a smile as she replied quickly: "Yeah!" Jim paused to nod at Rose and then looked at Sherlock as he said softly: "'Bye."

Molly murmured: "'Bye." But Jim continued to look at Sherlock as he said: "It was nice to meet you." Sherlock didn't deign to reply, irritated beyond relief as he ignored the man and continued to work. John finally broke the awkward silence as he replied for Sherlock: "You too."

Jim blinked at him, looking awkward and then he left. Molly waited until the door closed before she snapped at Sherlock: "What d'you mean, gay? We're together." She tried to smile and Rose looked at her pityingly as Sherlock also turned to the woman and said derisively: "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." He turned back to his microscope

"Two and a half." Molly said, her smile gone and Sherlock fired back: "Nuh, three." John said warningly: "Sherlock ..." Rose winced as Molly said angrily: "He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil ...? He's _not_." She tried to convince, looking to John and Rose when Sherlock snorted as he said: "With that level of personal grooming?"

John tried to defend the man as he said: "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? _I_ put product in my hair." Sherlock retorted: "You _wash_ your hair. There's a difference. No, no, " he began to list as Rose winced, "tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

Molly asked in a mix of confusion and horror: "His underwear?" Sherlock explained: "Visible above the waistline – _very_ visible; very particular brand." He turned to the metal dish as he continued: "That, plus the _extremely_ suggestive fact," he lifted the dish, "that he just left his number under this dish here," he showed it to Molly, "and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

John groaned while Rose looked at Molly sympathetically. Molly stared at Sherlock for a moment before she turned and ran out of the room. She slammed the door while Sherlock looked confused. John muttered sarcastically: "Charming. Well done."

Sherlock asked confused: "Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Rose sighed while John said incredulously: "'Kinder'? No, no, Sherlock. _That_ wasn't kind." Sherlock demanded: "What, I was right? Rose noticed it all too, I'm sure." John snapped: "Yes, and you'll notice she stayed quiet."

"Because I said it first." Sherlock said and John snapped: "No, because she knew it would hurt Molly." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and Rose stepped forward, touching his arm to get his attention. She said softly: "You break that kind of news to her gently, Sherlock. Otherwise… it hurts all the more because she didn't see it."

He looked startled but his face set angrily when John said: "Exactly, couldn't have said it better myself." Sherlock looked fed up and he leaned back as he grabbed a trainer and placed it closer to John, saying: "Go on, then."

"Mmm?" John asked confused and Sherlock said sulkily: "You know what I do. Off you go." He folded his arms expectantly while John chuckled wryly, glancing at his watch as he said: "No." Rose sighed at the childishness of the situation.

"Go on." Sherlock urged and John said firmly: "I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate ..." Sherlock interrupted calmly: "An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me." John scoffed: "Yeah, right. Then why not ask Rose?" Sherlock replied promptly: "She's still shaken from having her house broken in, and we've already discussed it. I need a fresh perspective."

John glanced at Rose but she just gave him a look indicating she wanted nothing to do with this. John sighed, nodding in defeat as he said: "Fine." He cleared his throat awkwardly, picking up the shoe and examining it. He said: "I dunno – they're just a pair of shoes…trainers." He corrected.

"Good." Sherlock encouraged as he picked up his phone, checking it while John continued uncertainly: "Umm ... they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new ..." Rose bit her lip and Sherlock looked slightly frustrated but luckily John continued: "except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. "

"Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs." John murmured and Sherlock encouraged: "You're on sparkling form. What else?" John said: "Well, they're quite big, so a man's…" he looked at the shoe carefully and Sherlock prompted: "But ...?"

John saw the smudges of blue ink inside the trainer and he murmured: "But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid." Sherlock looked almost proud as he said, looking at John: "Excellent. What else?"

John looked taken aback as he said: "Uh ..." He looked back at the trainer he was holding and he said as he place it back down: "... that's it." Sherlock repeated: "That's it?" John nodded, and then he asked with his hands behind his back: "How did I do?"

Rose looked at him sympathetically, but he didn't see as Sherlock announced: "Well, John; really well." He paused and John looked momentarily elated until Sherlock added sarcastically: "I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know ..." He held up a hand for the shoe.

Rose groaned at him and whacked him gently on the head. He turned a look of surprise and indignation at her but she just looked at him pointedly. John, meanwhile, looked extremely frustrated as he picked up a trainer and handed it to Sherlock's expectant hand.

Sherlock began to recite quickly: "The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three ..." Rose frowned but Sherlock corrected himself in time, "no, four times."

John groaned as he lowered his head but Sherlock just continued: "Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old."

John straightened as he asked incredulously: "Twenty years?" Sherlock explained: "They're not retro – they're original." He showed John an image on his phone as he explained: "Limited edition: two blue stripes, 1989." John said in disbelief: "But there's still mud on them. They look new."

Rose nodded at him while Sherlock said thoughtfully: "Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it." John asked incredulously: "How do you know?" Sherlock nodded at the computer as he explained: "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me."

Sherlock continued: "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind." John asked: "So what happened to him?" Sherlock sighed as he said: "Something bad." He looked at the other two as he thought aloud: "He _loved_ those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ..."

He trailed off, staring into space. _"_ Oh." He whispered, and John looked around to see what Sherlock had seen but Rose knew he hadn't seen anything- he'd remembered something. "What?" John asked and Sherlock whispered: "Carl Powers." Rose and John frowned and John asked: "Sorry, who?"

Sherlock repeated, still staring into space: "Carl Powers, John." Rose asked: "Who was he?" And John asked: "What is it?" Sherlock murmured: "It's where I began." He cleared up suddenly, walking out without another word. Rose and John exchanged looks and then followed the man out.

When they'd gotten into a cab Sherlock finally explained: "1989, a young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." He showed them the article he'd looked up on his phone.

"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you? Rose would've been too young." He added and Rose nodded absentmindedly. John pointed out: "But you remember." Sherlock nodded as he confirmed: "Yes." John questioned: "Something fishy about it?"

Sherlock replied: "Nobody thought so, nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers." John muttered: "Started young, didn't you?" But Rose was focused on Sherlock who just continued to explain: "The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?" John asked while Rose said: "His shoes." Sherlock nodded and John asked: "What about them?" Sherlock looked at Rose but she sighed and said: "I guessed since his shoes are here now."

Sherlock nodded and he explained: "They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes ..." He picked up the bag containing the trainers as he finished: "... until now."

When they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, going through news articles on the Carl Powers case. There were only six hours left when Rose had to go back to work for her double shift, and Sherlock sent John away to meet Mycroft so the older Holmes would stop sending them text messages about West.

* * *

When Rose called in four hours later, Sherlock was ecstatic. He explained rapidly that he'd solved the case: it had been poison, Clostridium botulinum, one of the deadliest poisons on the planet that had been incorporated into Carl Powers' eczema medication. Caused the boy's muscles to paralyze after he'd come up to London for the swim meet. Sherlock explained how he'd found traces of it in the shoelaces on the shoes, it explained why the shoes had been missing when the boy's things had been removed from his locker after his death in the pool.

"So, the killer is also the bomber." Rose murmured and Sherlock replied: "Exactly." Rose paused before she asked: "And the crying woman?" He sighed but replied: "She told us where to find her, and got Lestrade on it." Rose paused again and she said slowly: "He let her go…" Sherlock replied: "Yes."

Rose nodded then remembered he couldn't see. "And?" Sherlock grinned but replied: "And he'll tell us what he's found in the morning when he's got all the facts he can get." And with that he hung up.

Rose clutched her phone as she lowered her hand slowly. She sat in thought when her phone beeped with a message. She glanced at it and frowned before sending a quick reply: 'Don't push me.'


	8. The Game Continues

They were back in Lestrade's office. Sherlock stood looking out at the office with his hands before his mouth, his fingers stippled while John and Rose sat before the DI as he told them: "She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house."

Sherlock walked back towards them and Lestrade looked at him as he added: "Told her to phone _you_. She had to read out from this pager." He placed a pager on the desk, and John took it to look at it while Sherlock murmured: "And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off."

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John added. Sherlock walked back to the window as he murmured: "Oh… Elegant." Rose closed her eyes, annoyed while John lifted his head and sighed as he asked in exasperation: "'Elegant'?"

Lestrade interrupted, asking bewildered: "But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?" Sherlock muttered as he looked out at the office: "Oh… I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored." Rose's face darkened at that but the pink phone beeped as Sherlock got a message.

John turned to him as Sherlock activated the message. The voice alert said: "You have one new message." Sherlock walked back towards Lestrade's desk as the message blipped again with the Greenwich pips, but this time only four.

John picked up on it as well and he said: "Four pips." Sherlock replied: "First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second." He showed the phone to the DI, and John and Rose got up to see. It was a close up of a car with the number plate clearly visible. The driver's door was open.

Sherlock murmured: "It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?" Lestrade grabbed his desk phone as he said: "I'll see if it's been reported." He began to ring when Donovan popped in to say: "Freak, it's for you." She held up a phone.

Sherlock walked over and took it from her. John sat down again while Rose followed Sherlock as he walked out, asking: "Hello?" A frightened young man's voice said: "It's okay that you've gone to the police. And that you've enlisted another genius to help." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he asked: "Who is this? Is this you again?"

The man just continued: "But don't rely on them. And don't pass the cases over to her." John turned to look and sat up straighter at the looks on Sherlock and Rose's faces. The young man was saying: "Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at that, and both he and Rose frowned as they hear cars and the sound of outside noise in the background. The young man continued: "Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing." John had come out, looking concerned and he stood closer as Sherlock asked: "And you've stolen another voice, I presume."

The man replied: "This is about you and me." Rose's eyes narrowed but Sherlock didn't question the man on that. He asked instead: "Who are you?" They heard another car whiz by. "What's that noise?"

The man replied shakily: "The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry ..." The man's voice broke a little as he said: "I can soon fix that." He sobbed a little but then he continued shakily: "You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight."

The call disconnected and Sherlock lowered the phone slowly. He looked at Rose and she looked back at him silently. Behind them Lestrade was saying: "Okay ... Great." He called to them as he walked out: "We've found it."

They followed him out, Rose's brows furrowed in thought while Sherlock was also thinking deeply about what had been said by their mystery bomber.

* * *

They walked into the area near the Thames river where the car had been found, already sectioned off by the police. Lestrade told them as he consulted his notes: "The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash."

They walked past a woman talking to a female police officer and Sherlock looked at the woman briefly before moving to the car that Lestrade led them to. Lestrade continued: "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived."

Sherlock and Lestrade examined the car while John and Rose stood back a little. Donovan said to John disgustedly: "You're still hanging round him." John replied: "Yeah, well ..." The Sergeant scoffed: "Opposites attract, I suppose."

John began to protest: "No, we're not ..." But Donovan had turned to Rose. "And who're you? The third wheel or the freak's girlfriend?" Rose glared at the woman with distaste. Donovan shrugged and turned back to John, saying: "You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer." She looked at Rose as she added: "Both of you."

She then went to stand beside Lestrade while Rose walked up to Sherlock who was looking at the large amount of blood smeared across the two front seats. He'd opened the glove box and was looking inside as Lestrade told him: "Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out."

Sherlock pulled out a business card, glanced at it before closing the compartment. He straightened up and commented: "No body." Donovan said condescendingly: "Not yet." "Try not ever." Rose muttered. Donovan looked at her surprised while Sherlock glanced at the girl.

He then turned to Lestrade, saying: "Get a sample sent to the lab." Lestrade nodded and Sherlock walked off. Rose watched in amusement as Lestrade turned to look pointedly at Donovan. The woman stared at him indignantly but when he just gave her a stern look she almost pouted before storming away sulkily.

Sherlock meanwhile had wandered over to the woman who was just finishing the interrogation with the policewoman. Sherlock asked: "Mrs Monkford?" She turned to him tearfully as she answered: "Yes." John walked up but Rose kept her distance, knowing it wouldn't help Sherlock's efforts.

The woman was sighing at the men as she said tearfully and tiredly: "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen." John began, saying sympathetically but firmly: "No, we're not from the police; we're ..."

Sherlock interrupted as he held out a hand, saying tearfully: "Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's. We, um ..." he pretended to fight tears as he said in a trembling voice: "we grew up together."

Mrs. Monkford had shaken his hand automatically and she asked confusedly: "I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned you." Sherlock continued to sound tearful as he said: "Oh, he _must_ have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn't it?" John turned away, trying to keep his face impassive even as it twitched although whether in amusement or irritation, Rose couldn't tell.

Sherlock just continued, sounding torn: "I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian, not a care in the world." He smiled sadly at the woman who looked bewildered and suspicious as she said: "Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?"

Tears ran down Sherlock's cheeks as he said: "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?" Mrs. Monkford replied: "No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Sherlock laughed a little as he mused: "Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Mrs. Monkford looked furious and confused as she said: "No it wasn't." Immediately Sherlock's face and tone dropped to his normal face, and he said as he looked at the woman intently: "Wasn't it? Interesting."

He walked off, heading towards Rose and Rose could see Mrs. Monkford looking furious and glaring at Sherlock while turning to ask a police officer who Sherlock was. John asked as they approached Rose and ducked under the police tape: "Why did you lie to her?"

Sherlock took off his gloves to wipe the fake tears as he said: "People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?" "Yes." Rose answered while John said: "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock nodded at Rose appreciatively while he explained: to John "I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature, they've only just found the car." John asked in surprise: "You think she murdered her husband?" Rose shook her head as Sherlock said: "Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

John said slowly: "I see. No, I don't. What am I seeing?" Donovan shouted after them suddenly: "Fishing! Try fishing!" Rose rolled her eyes while John turned and gave Donovan an exasperated nod. John asked as he rushed to catch up with Sherlock and Rose: "Where now?"

"Janus Cars." Sherlock replied. He showed the other two the business card he'd found as he explained to John, knowing Rose knew: "Just found this in the glove compartment."

* * *

They had six hours left as they reached Janus Cars. John and Rose sat opposite the company's owner while Sherlock wandered about. John had taken the role of asking questions. Mr. Ewert was saying: "Can't see how I can help you gentlemen and lady."

John began: "Mr Monkford hired the car from you yesterday." Ewert replied easily: "Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself." Sherlock had walked over and was standing beside Ewert when he piped up, pointing at a picture behind Ewert: "Is that one?"

The car owner turned to look at the picture and Sherlock examined the man's neck closely. He quickly turned away as Ewert turned back, saying: "No, they're all Jags. Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

Sherlock just smiled at them as he asked: "But, er, surely _you_ can afford one. A Mazda, I mean?" He said politely. Ewert shrugged as he started to scratch his arm a little, saying: "Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is: it's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the liquorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

Sherlock and Rose watched the man as he removed his hand from his arm. John continued: "But you didn't know Mr Monkford?" Ewert shook his head as he replied: "No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod."

He scratched his arm again while Sherlock wandered around Ewert's desk. "Nice holiday, Mr Ewert?" Sherlock suddenly asked abruptly. Ewert looked puzzled as he asked: "Eh?" Sherlock pointed out: "You've been away, haven't you?"

Ewert realized what he meant and he said: "Oh, the-the ..." he gestured at his tanned face in understanding as he said, "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though, bit of sun."

Sherlock asked, again out of the blue: "Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Ewert seemed bewildered by Sherlock's random questions as he asked: "What?"

Sherlock continued: "Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He offered a bank note to Ewert as he added: "I'm gasping." Ewert looked puzzled as he said: "Um, well ..."

He pulled out his wallet from his trousers, and opened it to look inside. "Hmm. No, sorry." He said apologetically, not noticing Sherlock had looked inside his wallet. Sherlock smiled as he withdrew his cash, saying politely: "Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr Ewert."

He turned and walked to the door, Rose rising to follow. "You've been _very_ helpful." Sherlock said emphatically, before calling lightly: "Come on, John." John smiled at Ewert politely as he got up and followed the other two out.

John offered as they left the place: "I-I've got change if you still want to, uh ..." he trailed off as he pulled out his wallet and Rose laughed. Sherlock smiled as he said while patting his upper left arm: "Nicotine patches, remember? I'm doing well."

John asked confused: "So what was that all about?" Rose smiled as Sherlock said: "I needed to look inside his wallet." John looked puzzled as he asked: "Why?" Rose said: "Because, John." Sherlock finished: "Mr Ewert's a liar."

John asked Rose confusedly: "How'd you know what he was going on about?" Rose teased with a grin: "Because, John, it was obvious." John sighed, shaking his head while Sherlock sent a grin over his shoulder at the blonde.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock sat working alone in Bart's. John and Rose had gone to work. Technically Rose was down the corridor, but she was needed so he sat by himself, working on Monkford's blood samples. He carefully dropped a small drop of liquid on one drop of blood in a petri dish, and watched it fizz.

Suddenly the pink phone rang. He quickly straightened up, picking up the phone which was once again a blocked number. He answered it quickly. "Hello?" The young man said shakily: "The clue's in the name. Janus Cars."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he asked: "Why would you be giving me a clue?" The young man replied tearfully: "Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored. We were _made_ for each other, Sherlock."

Sherlock asked softly: "Then talk to me in your own voice." The young man replied: "Patience." The line went dead and Sherlock lowered the phone while he stared blankly into the distance, lost in thought. He finally looked down at his petri dish, and peered at the fizzing blood, before he smiled.

* * *

With three hours left, Sherlock assembled all of them sans Rose who was caught in work, around the car in the police car pound. Sherlock asked: "How much blood was on that seat, would you say?"

Lestrade glanced into the car and guessed: "How much? About a pint." Sherlock corrected: "Not 'about.' _Exactly_ a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's but it's been frozen." Lestrade repeated: "Frozen?"

Sherlock replied: "There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats." John was completely baffled as he asked: " _Who_ did?" "Janus Cars. The clue's in the name." Sherlock replied.

"The god with two faces." John breathed as he realized, and Sherlock nodded as he confirmed: "Exactly." John hummed in thought while Sherlock explained: "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem- money troubles, bad marriage, whatever- Janus Cars will help you disappear."

He looked down at the car as he continued: "Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat..."

John asked puzzled: "So where is he?" Sherlock slammed the open car door shut as he replied promptly: "Colombia." Lestrade said incredulously: "Colombia?!" Sherlock explained: "Mr Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet. Quite a bit of change, too."

Sherlock continued to list what he'd observed: "He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock explained: "Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

John said in disbelief: "M-Mrs _._ Monkford?" Sherlock said confidently: "Oh yes. She's in on it too." Lestrade looked amazed and Sherlock told him: "Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best."

He turned to John as he said: " _We_ need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved." He turned to walk away and as he did, he clenched his hands in triumph as he cried: "I am on fire!"

When they returned home, Rose had just gotten back as well. John was about to explain when Rose asked: "So, did you figure out about the blood?" Sherlock was typing onto his laptop on his blog: 'The Science of Deduction _':_

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.

Sherlock turned to her as he explained: "It was frozen." She nodded and John asked incredulously: "How'd you figure it out?" She looked at him, and he knew even before she could reply. Good thing too because they were interrupted as the pink phone rang.

Sherlock answered quickly and the young man said, his voice shaking with fear and tears: "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please."

* * *

Rose P.O.V.

The next morning, the three sat at a small diner, Rose and John getting breakfast while Sherlock just sat waiting impatiently with the phone lying on the table before him. Sherlock asked John: "Feeling better?"

John hummed a sound of contentment. Rose lifted a piece of toast to Sherlock's mouth. He gave her a dirty look and she threatened: "Don't make me punch you to open your mouth." He sighed and accepted the toast disgustedly.

John noted: "You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" He ate his own mouthful as Sherlock quickly swallowed. John asked thoughtfully: "Has it occurred to you ...?" Sherlock interrupted: "Probably."

Rose rolled her eyes and John said sternly: "No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into Rose's flat; the dead kid's shoes. It's all meant for you."

Sherlock smiled a little as he murmured: "Yes, I know." He was finally not bored and his excitement concerned Rose and John. John asked at last: "Is it him, then? Moriarty?" Sherlock's face became thoughtful as he murmured: "Perhaps."

The phone rang at that moment and Sherlock quickly answered it. Three pips, and then there was a photograph of a smiling late middle-aged woman wearing heavy makeup. Rose realized she knew the woman. Sherlock clearly didn't as he said in exasperation: "That could be anybody."

John sighed as he said: "Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed." Sherlock frowned as he asked: "How d'you mean?" John got up as he moved to go to the counter, murmuring: "Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly."

John walked over to pick up the remote control, switching through the channels on the television that perched in the corner of the ceiling in the café. "What is he on about?" Sherlock asked and Rose replied: "That woman's the host of a make-over show."

She nodded and Sherlock saw John had found the channel. The woman was saying as she gestured off-screen: "Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, _now_?" The phone rang and Sherlock picked it up as Connie Prince said: "Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows' ears…"

Sherlock answered the phone: "Hello?" An old woman spoke slowly, shaking with fear in a Yorkshire accent: "This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry. She's blind." Sherlock bowed his head a little while Rose bit her lip.

"This is ... a funny one." There was a pause before she said: "I'll give you ... twelve hours." Sherlock looked at John who'd returned and was sitting across from him and Rose again. He asked carefully: "Why are you doing this?"

The old woman replied: "I like ... to watch you ... dance." She gasped and sobbed in terror while Rose's heart clenched at the response. The call cut off, and Sherlock lowered the phone, just shaking his head at John's questioning look.

The men turned back to the TV, as Rose's phone vibrated in her pocket, where Connie Prince was saying: "...and I see you're back to your bad habits." The footage continued as the news headline read underneath: "Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48 _._ "

She glanced at it covertly while Sherlock was distracted by the TV as the newsreader was saying: "Continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead..."

Rose deleted the text quickly, before slipping it back into her pocket. Her face gave nothing away even as she reeled inside from what the text had said. 'The clue's in the name'.


	9. The Game Thickens

They walked into Bart's morgue, following Lestrade who was reading his file for them as they approached Connie Prince's body. "Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?" He asked Sherlock who replied flatly: "No."

Sherlock began to walk around the body as Lestrade explained: "Very popular. She was going places." Sherlock retorted bluntly: "Not any more. So," he began to recite the facts they'd been told, "dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound."

He, John and Rose examined the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger. Sherlock finished: "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream... Good night Vienna." He said derisively. John murmured: "I suppose."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he murmured: "Something's wrong with this picture." "Eh?" Lestrade asked, and Sherlock explained impatiently: "Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong." He began to examine the woman carefully, taking out his small magnifier.

Rose noted the several scratches on the woman's arm, almost like claw marks, but very faint. She also noted the tiny pinpricks on the woman's forehead, just above her nose- probably where she got her Botox injections. Sherlock murmured: "John?"

John hummed in response and Sherlock asked: "The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" John replied: "Yeah." Sherlock pointed out: "But the wound's clean…very clean… and fresh." He stood up, closing his magnifier.

"How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" He asked and John replied: "Eight, ten days." Sherlock saw Rose's brows furrow and he gave a half-smile, waiting for John to put it together as well. It didn't take him long and John breathed: "The cut was made later."

"After she was dead?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock replied: "Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" John was looking at the body thoughtfully and Sherlock said: "You want to help, right?"

"Of course." John replied and Sherlock ordered: "Connie Prince's background, family history, everything. Get me data." John nodded, saying: "Right." He left and Sherlock turned to Rose. "Do you have work today?" She shook her head and he said: "I need you to help me on something else."

She nodded again. Both glanced at Connie Prince and then turned to the door. Lestrade said: "There's something else that we haven't thought of." Sherlock replied lightly: "Is there?" Lestrade retorted: "Yes. Why is he _doing_ this, the bomber?"

That made Sherlock pause and he stopped with his back to the DI, looking a little anxious. Rose saw his face and stopped hesitantly as well while Lestrade came up behind Sherlock and asked: "If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?" Sherlock replied nonchalantly over his shoulder: "Good Samaritan."

He began to walk away but Lestrade pointed out: "Who press-gangs suicide bombers?" Sherlock turned to Lestrade as he shrugged and corrected light heartedly: "Bad Samaritan." Lestrade said sternly: "I'm… I'm serious, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face became serious as the DI emphasized: "Listen: I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you, but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful and then his lips curled delightedly as he replied: "Something new." He turned and walked away while the DI looked after him in disbelief. Rose looked at him apologetically before she trotted out after Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing before the wall behind the wall that he and Rose had covered with information from all the cases the bomber had given them, starting from the beginning. The DI stood slightly behind, Rose with him although she was staring intently at the wall. Sherlock muttered as he paced: "Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection."

He finally stopped and gestured at each spot on the wall as he snapped: "Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?"

The pink phone rang, and he answered it immediately, placing it on speaker. The old woman said in her terrified voice: "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Joining the ... dots. Three hours: boom ... boom…" She cried in terror and the call went dead. He glanced at Lestrade and then shared a look with Rose before they all turned back to the wall, Sherlock placing his hands over his mouth in thought.

Sherlock quickly rang a contact he knew at the Home Office, asking a favor. They waited for the response tersely, Sherlock still trying to figure out the bomber's intentions. Mrs. Hudson joined them at one point, and looked at the photos of Connie Prince sadly. Sherlock received the call he'd been waiting for and he listened intently.

Sherlock breathed and then he said sincerely: "Great. ... Thank you. Thanks again." He continued to talk on the phone and Rose joined him as he hung up while Mrs. Hudson spoke to Lestrade about Connie's show. "Well?" She asked quietly, and he nodded. "We were right." Rose frowned as he went to move back to Lestrade, stopping him with a hand to his chest. He looked surprised as she looked up at him and asked: "Aren't you going to call off the bomber?"

Sherlock shook his head, murmuring: "Just a little more time." She frowned. "For what?" She asked. He smiled enigmatically and Rose's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, there are lives at stake." She reprimanded quietly. He just replied: "And I can save many more if I can catch the bomber first."

He returned to the wall and Lestrade. He and Lestrade, and then Mrs. Hudson, began to chatter, poring over a video at some point, while Rose turned away. She bit her lip, playing with her phone for a moment. She stood a little indecisively, and Sherlock glanced back at her oddly.

She shook her head at him and he cocked his head but she just came over, seeming to have come to a silent decision. Sherlock murmured: "What is it?" She just said softly: "I agree with you." He looked surprised but she didn't say any more and he left it at that.

Mrs. Hudson soon left and he began to pore over the puzzle that was the bomber, when John called from where he'd been at Kenny Prince's house. Sherlock answered immediately. "John." He listened for a moment and then replied shortly: "I'll remember." He listened again intently and then turned to Rose as he hung up the phone. "Do you know a friend into photography?" She paused and then replied: "Yes." Sherlock said urgently: "I need to borrow some things."

* * *

Sherlock had left to join John, posing as the photographer to John's journalist, while Rose remained with the DI in the flat. Lestrade looked at her curiously as he asked: "So, what's the deal with you and Sherlock?" She glanced at him in surprise and he clarified: "I've never seen Sherlock as sociable as he is with John, and now there's you too."

She smiled as she teased a little: "Sherlock, sociable?" They laughed a little and then the DI looked at her expectantly. Rose shrugged as she said: "Well, we had a horrible first meeting to be honest. He was his usual rude self and we ignored each other for a good two weeks."

Lestrade nodded and she continued: "But then… well, then he and I got to see the real deal. He saw that I was smarter than he'd given credit for. I expect that's why he still keeps interest- because I was that mystery, still am, that he can't read."

Lestrade looked surprised and he asked: "Why don't you tell him?" She shrugged as she said: "He's never asked, and I suspect he never will. He wants to prove to himself he can figure it out on his own." Lestrade nodded understandingly- Sherlock was nothing if not stubborn. "And?" He prompted. Rose looked at him. "'And'?" She repeated.

"Well, why'd you start hanging around him?" He asked. Rose's face became thoughtful as she answered: "Well, he's such a strange man. It's never boring around him, that's for sure." They both laughed again and then her face became pensive as she mused: "And I suppose… I suppose you could say I was impressed when I saw that Sherlock Holmes does actually have a heart beneath all that," she mimicked his snobbish behavior and Lestrade snorted again.

"So, no chance you and him, though?" He teased. He was surprised when Rose's face shut down a little and she said somewhat coldly: "No, never." Lestrade held up a hand in surrender, placating her as he said: "Sorry, didn't mean to offend." She immediately looked contrite as she answered: "No, not offended, just…"

Her eyes lost focus as she murmured: "I can't… it would never work. I can't." She said abruptly and Lestrade frowned. Rose saw it and added: "Besides, can you imagine him falling for a woman?" Lestrade thought about it and laughed. "No, I guess not." He agreed and they laughed together again.

Lestrade was called back to his office soon after, and he left Rose with a polite greeting and a smile. She smiled back but it fell after he left. Indecision flitted on her face once more as she glanced at her phone pensively.

* * *

Sherlock called Rose one hour before the deadline. She arrived at Scotland Yard and walked in just after Sherlock and John arrived. She was in time to hear Sherlock saying: "Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin."

He placed a folder on Lestrade's desk and as Lestrade reached for it, Sherlock leaned in to remind him: "We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself." Lestrade walked towards his office and Sherlock and Rose followed while John looked surprised.

"So how'd he do it?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock explained: "Botox injection." Lestrade asked in disbelief: "Botox?" Sherlock explained: "Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases."

He gestured at the folder he'd given Lestrade as he finished: "He's been bulk ordering Botox for months." John stared at Sherlock, looking increasingly incensed about something. Rose saw and looked at him questioningly. Sherlock didn't notice as he continued speaking to Lestrade, saying: "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

Lestrade paused, looking at Sherlock intently as he asked: "You sure about this?" Sherlock nodded. "I'm sure." He confirmed and Lestrade nodded, jerking his head into his office as he said: "Alright, my office." He turned and walked in. Sherlock began to follow but John stopped him angrily.

"Hey, Sherlock. How long?" John demanded and Rose realized what had John so angry. Sherlock was oblivious as he asked: "What?" John clarified in a hard tone: "How long have you known?" Sherlock replied, a little confused: "Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake."

He began to walk after Lestrade but John stopped him again as he said angrily: "No, but Sherl..." He broke off in frustration, and the continued, trying to be calm: "The hostage... the old woman. She's been there all this time." Sherlock was annoyed as he leaned in and whispered: "I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you _see_? We're one up on him!"

He walked into Lestrade's office and John pursed his lips in anger before following. Sherlock began to type into his blog, letting the bomber know he'd figured it out and Rose said to John gently: "Sherlock does care, John. He's trying to stop the bomber for good- he's not a heartless bastard, despite whatever he himself might say contrary."

John sighed and then smiled at her tiredly, nodding in understanding. And when she said it like that, he knew she was right- after all, he knew Sherlock had a heart even if the man himself tried to deny it.

The phone rang and they both looked up to see Sherlock answering it. "Hello?" Sherlock pause and then replied calmly and clearly: "Tell us where you are. Address?" Rose looked over sharply when Sherlock suddenly said urgently: "No, no, no, no! Tell me nothing about him. Nothing _._ " She slowly stood up and moved towards Sherlock.

In Sherlock's ear, the old woman moaned: "He sounded so ... soft." Sherlock heard a gun shot and instantly the phone went dead. His head shot up and Rose stood next to him, peering at him in concern as he asked quickly: "Hello?"

Seeing his expression, Lestrade asked: "Sherlock?" John asked in concern: "What's happened?" Sherlock just stared ahead as he lowered the phone from his ear. He bit his lip and the others realized something bad had happened. Lestrade straightened up and sighed while John braced a hand on the back of Sherlock's chair.

Rose touched his arm, and when he glanced at her she met his gaze. His blue eyes bore into her green ones and she saw the hurt inside them. She squeezed him arm and suddenly the pain was evident across his face. She took him into her arms, giving him comfort as he hugged her back, head bowed silently.

Lestrade and John exchanged looks, both surprised at this uncharacteristic burst of emotion from the consulting detective. And Lestrade realized that Rose was wrong- he and John might just be witnessing the great Sherlock Holmes actually falling in love… and neither the man himself nor the girl knew it.

* * *

The trio sat in 221B, watching the news on the TV. The pink phone sat on the left arm of Sherlock's chair while Rose sat on the right. They watched as the news showed a picture of a high-ris block of flats where a corner of the building had been torn open. The news headline read: '12 dead in gas explosion.'

The newsreader was saying: "The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..." John glanced at Sherlock over his shoulder as he murmured: "Old block of flats." But the detective was once again his composed and impassive self as the newsreader continued: "is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company..."

John muttered: "He certainly gets about." Sherlock muttered: "Well, obviously I lost that round. Although technically," he grabbed the remote, pressing the mute button, "I did solve the case." He lowered his hand and he looked thoughtfully into the distance.

"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him." He explained to them. Sherlock raised a finger as he continued: "Just once, he put himself in the firing line." John asked with a frown: "What d'you mean?" Sherlock explained: "Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He… organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact."

John asked as he thought aloud: "What ... like the Connie Prince murder, he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" Sherlock's face became admiring as he whispered: "Novel."

Rose glanced at him while John looked at him in disbelief. John then glanced at the TV where the news had moved onto a new story. "Huh." John murmured and they all looked to see the story was Raoul de Santos's arrest for the Connie Prince murder, while the bomber, the one who'd orchestrated the whole thing, was still free.

Sherlock glanced at the phone and John turned to see Sherlock looking at it. Sherlock muttered: "Taking his time this time." John looked away, clearing his throat and then asked: "Anything on the Carl Powers case?" Sherlock muttered: "Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection." John asked: "Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

Sherlock replied tersely: "The thought had occurred." Rose was beginning to frown at him as Sherlock continued to glance at the pink phone. John asked: "So why's he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?" Sherlock pressed his fingertips together before his mouth and smiled a little as he murmured: "I think he wants to be distracted."

John gave a humorless laugh, getting out of his chair and heading for the kitchen as he said sarcastically: "I hope you'll be very happy together." Sherlock frowned and asked, confused: "Sorry, what?"

John spun back, absolutely furious and Rose flinched as he said angrily: "There are lives at stake, Sherlock, actual _human_ lives... Just, just so I know, do you care about that at all?" Sherlock asked, irritated: "Will caring about them help save them?" "Nope." John replied shortly.

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake." Sherlock retorted and John asked fiercely: "And you find that easy, do you?" Sherlock replied easily: "Yes, very. Is that news to you?" Rose frowned as she watched them carefully. John replied: "No." He smiled bitterly as he repeated defeatedly: "No."

The two men locked eyes and Sherlock realized something. "I've disappointed you." He said and John said grimly, smiling sarcastically: "That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah." Sherlock snapped: "Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

They stared at each other for a moment longer but then the pink phone beeped. Sherlock's attention immediately went to it and he said softly: "Excellent!" He activated the message, which gave two blips, while Rose stared at John sympathetically. The man had lowered his head dejectedly, completely disappointed in his friend.

Sherlock was looking at the photograph on the phone, and said obliviously: "View of the Thames. South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." He reached for his own phone as he said: "You check the papers, Rose help him, I'll look online..." He trailed off as he finally saw John.

He scorned: "Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help." John had raised his head and shrugged but then Sherlock delivered the final blow. "Not much cop, this caring lark." He clicked the last syllable as he dismissed John and began to search on his own.

Rose looked at John, who was staring at Sherlock for a moment before he glanced at the blonde. He saw that her brown roots were beginning to show- most likely because she hadn't had time to redo them with their recent fiasco. Rose was staring at John, giving him a questioning look, silently asking if he was okay.

He finally sighed, giving Rose a tight nod and she looked dejected even as John moved to the sofa to look through the papers tiredly. Rose turned back to Sherlock who was looking through the local news in the Waterloo area. She leaned down, touching his arm and he glanced at her briefly. She gave him a sad look and his heart tightened a little.

"Archway suicide." John read and Sherlock snapped irritably: "Ten a penny." John threw Sherlock a look as Sherlock turned away from Rose and began to browse through other areas. Rose sighed as John continued to read: "Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington…" He turned to another paper and said: "Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West."

Sherlock was growing irritated and exasperated at finding nothing. He snapped: "Nothing!" He hit the speed dial, waiting for the ring. When the other person answered: "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?" Rose sighed again and he glanced at her as he waited. His gaze softened a little and when she saw it she just gave him a tired smile.

She knew Sherlock would die first before he admitted he had a heart. He wasn't ready yet, and his breakdown last night was not enough for him to accept John's words, admit he cared. In fact, it was probably what had made him more irritable- embarrassed after his loss of control last night, he was ready to lash out and prove to them all, including himself, that they were wrong. Even though they all knew they weren't.


	10. Loose Ends

Lestrade called them to the south bank of the River Thames where the police had found a body. As they arrived, Lestrade called to Sherlock: "D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?"

Sherlock finished pulling on his latex gloves that they were all forced to wear by the forensics team. Sherlock replied to Lestrade: "Must be. Odd, though..." he held up the phone, "he hasn't been in touch." Lestrade sighed as he murmured: "But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?"

Sherlock replied shortly: "Yes." He stepped back to examine the dead man, dressed in a standard white work shirt and pants. Rose examined the body from a closer angle as Lestrade asked: "Any ideas?" Sherlock replied: "Seven ... so far."

"Seven?" Lestrade asked incredulously but Sherlock was focused now. Rose also looked at the man carefully, noting the ripped front pocket on the shirt, the ill-fitting clothes, and as Sherlock examined the feet, she glanced at them too, noting the hard callouses and thick veins in the man's calves. She looked at the man's face and noted the bruising pattern and paused.

Sherlock backed away, and nodded for John to examine the body. John looked to Lestrade for permission, which the DI readily granted. John knelt down to examine the body medically while Sherlock removed his gloves and began to search something on his phone.

John began: "He's dead about twenty-four hours. Maybe a bit longer." He asked Lestrade: "Did he drown?" Lestrade replied while Sherlock continued to search on his phone: "Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated." John nodded as he murmured: "Yes, I'd agree."

John continued: "There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here." He pointed them out on the side of the man's head. Sherlock muttered thoughtfully: "Fingertips." John began to stand up as he finished: "In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition."

Sherlock said seriously as he finished with his search: "He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." He quirked a grin as he added: "But I'll tell you one thing," he looked at them "that lost Vermeer painting's a fake." Rose nodded thoughtfully while John looked surprised.

"What?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock continued, ignoring him: "We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates..." Lestrade stopped him as he demanded: "Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you, what are you on about?"

Sherlock said as though it was obvious- which it was to him and Rose: "It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."

Lestrade asked: "Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?" Sherlock grinned as he replied: "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?" Rose stiffened just slightly. None of them noticed as Lestrade asked confused: "Golem?" John piped up: "It's a horror story, isn't it? What are you saying?"

Sherlock explained: "Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin, real name Oskar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world." He pointed at the dead man as he told them: "That is his trademark style."

"So this is a hit?" Lestrade asked incredulously and Sherlock nodded as he confirmed: "Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Lestrade said confused: "But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see..." Sherlock snapped in exasperation: "You do see – you just don't observe."

"Sherlock." Rose said quietly and John snapped at the two men: "Alright, alright, girls, calm down." He looked at Sherlock, nodding at the body as he said: "Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?" Sherlock paused before he began.

"What do we know about this corpse?" He pointed at the body. "The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt. Cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."

"Tube driver?" Lestrade tried and Sherlock gave him a dirty look. John guessed: "Security guard?" Sherlock nodded as he said: "More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside." Lestrade repeated incredulously: "Backside?" "It's soft, unlike the other parts of him." Rose supplied and Lestrade looked at her in surprise

Sherlock nodded at her as he continued: "Yes, it's flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too."

He showed them the watch on the man's right wrist: "The alarm shows he did regular night shifts." Lestrade asked: "Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died." Sherlock explained: "No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied."

His speech became faster as he continued: "But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution." Sherlock rummaged in his pocket and said as he pulled it out: "Found this inside his trouser pockets."

John and Rose looked at the small scrunched up ball of paper. Sherlock explained: "Sodden by the river but still recognisably ..." John supplied: "Tickets?" Sherlock corrected: "Ticket _stubs_. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check, the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." He pointed at the body as he identified the man: "Alex Woodbridge."

He finally explained the painting: "Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."

John said admiringly: "Fantastic." Sherlock shrugged, as he said: "Meretricious." Lestrade joked half-heartedly: "And a Happy New Year." John glanced at Lestrade, giving him a funny look, before looking at the body. "Poor sod." He murmured.

Lestrade asked Rose: "Did you know all that, too?" Rose shook her head, saying: "I didn't have all the clues, but it was clear once Sherlock explained the cause of the bruising and which gallery this man worked for."

Lestrade nodded and said determinedly: "I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character." Sherlock immediately shot the idea down as he said: "Pointless. You'll never find him. But I know a man who can." Lestrade looked surprised as he asked: "Who?"

Sherlock grinned. "Me." And with that, the man turned and walked off. Lestrade just gave him a look while Rose rolled her eyes. John sighed, his face looking resigned as the two walked after their friend. They grabbed a taxi and rode off.

Sherlock looked down at the pink phone again as he said in frustration: "Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?" He suddenly had an idea and told the cab a new direction: "Waterloo Bridge."

John asked: "Where now? The Gallery?" Sherlock replied vaguely: "In a bit." John realized: "The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?" Sherlock had taken out a notebook an began to write on a page as he murmured: "Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data."

He ripped the page out and wrapped a bank note around it, folding it and pocketing it carefully. He suddenly ordered the cab: "Stop!" The cab pulled over to the side of the road and Sherlock told the cabbie: "You wait here. I won't be a moment."

He got out and jumped the railings at the edge of the pavement easily as Rose and John followed. John muttered: "Sherlock..." But Sherlock ignored him, helping Rose over and then walking off. John shook his head, paused and then scrambled over the railings to hurriedly while Rose waited for him.

They followed as Sherlock trotted up some steps to where a young homeless woman was sitting on a bench under the bridge. She was asking: "Change? Any change?" Sherlock asked her: "What for?" The girl replied: "Cup of tea, of course." Sherlock handed the young woman the bank note he'd prepared earlier, saying: "Here you go, fifty."

The girl smiled and said: "Thanks." Sherlock left immediately and Rose looked surprised. John was bewildered and he asked: "What are you doing?" Sherlock replied shortly: "Investing." John looked back to see the girl reading Sherlock's note.

Sherlock easily leapt over the railings back to the cab and eased Rose over. He left John again as he opened the door, murmuring: "Now we go to the Gallery." John had just struggled over when Sherlock stopped and looked back at John. "Have you got any cash?"

John sighed but nodded and Sherlock climbed in, Rose and John behind him. "You have a homeless network?" Rose asked and Sherlock grinned. "Best network." He answered. Sherlock got off at the Hickman Gallery but ordered Rose and John: "No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address."

Rose nodded while John said: "Okay." They left while Sherlock walked off. Rose glanced down at her watch and groaned. "I have work, can you do it on your own?" She asked and John nodded. "Yeah, you go on. I'll keep you posted." She nodded as she sighed: "I have the long shift today, get off late at night."

John nodded. "I'll tell Sherlock." She smiled and nodded. "Thanks." She said. She dropped John off at Alex Woodbridge's home before she took the cab to Bart's.

* * *

Rose had been alarmed when Sherlock called. He was gasping, almost voiceless- apparently he'd had a friendly meeting with the Gollum. Unfortunately a Professor Cairns was dead, killed by the Gollum because she had known what Alex Woodbridge had about the Vermeer painting.

Rose frowned- how could a professor and a gallery attendant, whose only passion was apparently star-gazing and not art, possibly know what was wrong with an artwork that professionals hadn't picked up on? But there was no more time. She grabbed a cab to the Hickman Gallery in the early hours of the morning. She arrived with Lestrade and the two entered the premise to find Sherlock and John waiting.

Using Lestrade's DI pass, they'd gotten into the gallery and were standing before the Vermeer painting. Sherlock was searching everything he could think of on his phone as he stood before the painting, muttering: "It's a fake. It has to be."

The gallery owner, Miss Wenceslas was indignant and she protested furiously in her East European accent: "That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." Sherlock snapped at her: "It's a very good fake, then."

He turned to glare at the woman as he spat: "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?" The woman turned to Lestrade and she said irritably: "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself…" she looked around at them condescendingly "and your friends out?"

Lestrade looked both apologetic and exasperated. They were all on edge when the pink phone rang. Sherlock snatched it out of his pocket and he switched it to speaker as he bit out: "The painting is a fake." There was a faint sound of breathing but no other response.

Sherlock repeated: "It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." He glared at Miss Wenceslas but again there was no response. Sherlock closed his eyes as he borderline begged: "Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed."

There was silence and Sherlock took a deep breath to calm down before he implored: "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" There was a pause and then Rose's blood ran cold. A young boy's voice called in a tremulous over the phone: "Ten..."

Sherlock spun around immediately, looking closely at the painting. The others were all horrified. John and Lestrade's faces scrunched as Lestrade said in shock: "It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a _kid_!" John tried to remain calm as he asked: "What did he say?"

"'Ten'." Rose and Sherlock said, Sherlock tersely, Rose softly. She could see her life flashing before her eyes as the child called over the phone: "Nine..." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he looked at the painting intently and he explained: "It's a countdown. He's giving me time."

"Jesus…" Lestrade said in horror while John covered his mouth and Sherlock muttered urgently: "The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? _How?_ " The boy's voice called: "Eight..." Sherlock whirled on Miss Wenceslas and he demanded furiously: "This kid will die. _Tell_ me why the painting is a fake. _Tell me!"_

Miss Wenceslas flinched and she opened her mouth, looking horrified as the child called: "Seven ..." but Sherlock shut her immediately, raising a hand to stop her as he realized: "No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out." He began to stare intently at the painting and John looked at Rose.

He was surprised to see the absolute fear in her eyes, her pale countenance. The child's voice was affecting her, he could see that, but he could also see it was some form of trauma; it was more than just fear it was terrifying her. He wondered what exactly had happened in her past to cause her to look like that.

Rose's eyes turned to the painting and John saw a flash in her eyes, so quick he barely registered it, but he saw it. She'd realized something as she'd looked at the Vermeer. She knew what was wrong with the painting.

Sherlock meanwhile was muttering as he examined every inch of the painting: "Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face." "Six ..." Sherlock muttered: "Woodbridge knew, but _how_?" "Rose, please, you know!" John suddenly burst out. They all stared at the pale girl but Sherlock didn't dare. She couldn't tell him, he had to do it.

"Five ..." Lestrade groaned: "It's speeding up!" Rose's eyes closed and John said urgently: "Sherlock." Sherlock's gaze fell on the white dots of paint in the night sky and his mouth fell open as the penny finally dropped. "Oh!" He cried.

"Four ..." Sherlock said excitedly: "In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" He shoved the phone at John as he reached, grinning for his phone in his pocket.

"Three..." John demanded: " _What's_ brilliant? _What_ is?" Sherlock cried as he began to type: "This is beautiful. I love this!" "Two ..." Lestrade screamed angrily: " _Sherlock!"_

Sherlock grabbed the pink phone and yelled into it: "The Van Buren Supernova!" There was a pause and the boy called terrified: "Please. Is somebody there?" Sherlock sighed in relief and Rose opened her eyes as the boy begged: "Somebody help me!"

Sherlock passed the phone to Lestrade as he said: "There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." Sherlock looked at John and Rose pointedly as he explained: "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. " He showed his phone to Miss Wenceslas over his shoulder as he continued: "Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in 1858."

He turned to the woman triumphantly and then walked over to Rose. John sagged in relief as he approached the painting and said breathlessly: "So how could it have been painted in the 1640s?" Sherlock meanwhile stopped before Rose who looked incredibly shaken. "You alright?" He asked quietly. She looked up at him slowly.

"That was too close." She whispered. He nodded slowly. "How did you know about the painting?" He asked and she gave a watery laugh. "I'm clever, remember? I realized the only way Alex Woodbridge could know what was wrong was if there was something wrong with the sky and stars." He nodded as he looked at her. "You don't seem alright." He pointed out.

She looked at him and as they stared at each other her eyes began to fill with tears. He reached out and drew her into him. She took shaky breaths as she clung to his chest, although her tears didn't fall. John meanwhile had received another text from Mycroft and he sighed. He turned to complain to Sherlock but stopped abruptly at what he saw. He left the two alone, staying away silently.

They only broke away when Lestrade returned to arrest Miss Wenceslas and John joined the pair in following the DI out. Sherlock went after them while Rose stopped by the loo quickly. She was just washing her hands when she received a text. When she saw it, her heart almost stopped.

'Punishment for keeping things from me. Don't let it happen again.' It read. She immediately deleted the text, standing silently in the bathroom for a moment before going out and joining the others.


	11. Moriarty

They sat in Scotland Yard, Lestrade at his desk while Sherlock sat opposite, next to the shaken Miss Wenceslas. John had gone to investigate the Andrew West case secretly, again, while Rose was waiting outside Lestrade's office, staring into space and Sherlock sent her the occasional concerned glance.

Sherlock had his hands clasped beneath his chin as he mused: "You know, it's interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and _you_ , Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?"

She didn't answer and Sherlock asked curtly: "What are we looking at, Inspector?" Lestrade began to list thoughtfully: "Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats..."

Miss Wenceslas interrupted, panicked: "I didn't know _anything_ about that! All those things! Please believe me." She looked at the DI pleadingly and Sherlock gave a tiny nod from behind the woman to indicate she was telling the truth. She continued, unaware: "I just wanted my share. The thirty million."

She looked back at Sherlock, sighed and lowered her head as she admitted: "I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone" Sherlock snorted sarcastically and Miss Wenceslas glanced at him briefly as she corrected: "Well, nearly anyone."

She turned back to Lestrade as she continued her story: "But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idee… a spark which he blew into a flame." Sherlock looked at her and asked sharply: "Who?"

Miss Wenceslas shook her head and replied: "I don't know." Lestrade scoffed and Miss Wenceslas panicked, saying desperately: "It's true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people ... his people."

Sherlock began to sit up slowly and his expression became more intense as Miss Wenceslas continued: "Well, there was never any real contact; just messages ... whispers." Sherlock leaned in and demanded slowly and darkly: "And did those whispers have a name?"

Miss Wenceslas hesitated, looked at Lestrade and then nodded. She turned to Sherlock as she whispered her admittance: "Moriarty." Slowly Sherlock sank back into his chair, a look of realization on his face.

Miss Wenceslas turned back to Lestrade who watched Sherlock as the man gazed into the distance thoughtfully, placing his hands before his chin in thought and slowly he grinned.

* * *

Sherlock led Rose with him as they walked over to where John was talking to the rail guard at Battersea. Sherlock glanced at Rose who was looking much better. "Alright then?" He asked and she smiled, nodding.

"Thank you, by the way." She said and he glanced at her. She clarified: "For earlier. I needed that hug." He looked taken aback before he smiled and said simply: "You're welcome." They stopped behind John who was walking by the rails, the guard walking off.

"So, you're finally going to tell him?" She asked and Sherlock grinned. "So, you knew, too." He mused and she shrugged. "Body found without a ticket, missing plans and his sudden disappearance the night he died?" Sherlock grinned.

John was muttering: "Right: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere… or did he? There's no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?" Beside him, the points change and the tracks slid to the side into a new layout. John knelt beside the tracks thoughtfully.

Sherlock stepped up and said: "Points." John cried excitedly as he jumped to his feet: "Yes!" His face fell when he saw Sherlock and Rose. Sherlock said proudly: "Knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood."

John sighed as he asked: "How long have you been following me?" Sherlock replied: "Since the start. You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?" He gave John a look before he turned, walking off with Rose as he called: "Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do."

John ran to catch up and he asked Rose: "How'd you know?" She beamed when Sherlock snorted: "Don't insult her John, she knew as soon as I figured it out." John sighed and muttered: "Right." He added under his breath so neither of them could hear: "Match made in heaven, you two."

* * *

They were walking down a street as Sherlock explained to John: "The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service." John retorted: "Yeah, I know. I've met them."

Sherlock continued: "Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the latter. We're here." He declared as they turned into a drive and John asked: "Where?" Rose looked in interest as they followed Sherlock. They had turned into the drive of a maisonette and Sherlock had trotted up the side of the building.

He stopped at the door to the flat and began to rummage in his pocket. John said urgently as they caught up with him: "Sherlock! What if there's someone in?" Rose handed Sherlock her hairpin. He took it with thanks as he replied to John: "There isn't."

He picked the lock and went inside and John groaned: "Jesus!" He hurried after Sherlock who'd gone up the stairs and was walking into the living room. John asked as he and Rose followed: "Where are we?" Sherlock said in mock-surprise: "Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat."

John started as he said: "Joe ...? Sherlock went over to the window and pulled the net curtain. He grinned as he looked outside at the train passing right below them, and he explained: "Brother of West's fiancée. He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law." Sherlock examined the window sill, finding small splashes of blood.

 _"_ Then why'd he do it?" John wondered and Sherlock straightened as they heard someone unlocking the front door and coming in. "Let's ask him." Sherlock suggested. John reached to the back of his jeans as he walked quietly down to where the front door was just shutting. He stepped out onto the landing where Joe was just leaning his bicycle on the wall, dressed in his courier gear.

When he saw John, he lifted his bike as though to attack but John simply raised his pistol at the man, saying sternly: "Don't. Don't" The man lowered his bike, sighing in a mixture of resignation, frustration, and fear.

They sat him on his couch, Sherlock and Rose on one side, John before the man as Joe began: "It wasn't meant to..." Sherlock looked away in exasperation as Joe paused, murmuring: "God." He rubbed his hand over his face as he whispered: "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus."

"Lucy?" Rose whispered and Sherlock answered softly: "Westie's fiancée." "Ah." Rose nodded while John asked Joe sternly: "Why did you kill him?" Joe pleaded: "It was an accident." Sherlock snorted and the man snapped: "I swear it was."

Sherlock was irritated as he said sternly: "But stealing the plans for the missile defense programme wasn't an accident, was it?" Joe paused before he began to admit slowly: "I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno, I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands… serious people."

He paused before he said: "Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans, beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune."

He took a shaky breath before he continued: "It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew." He looked at John guiltily and John asked: "What happened?" Joe explained: "It was just a tussle… a small fight… but then he fell down the stairs, and his head smashed in."

Joe said hurriedly: "I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late. I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking." Sherlock interjected darkly: "When a neat little idea popped into your head." Joe nodded as he said: "I heard the train. It stopped right outside so I just… I put him on the roof."

Sherlock continued as he looked out the window: "Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved." John added: "And points." Sherlock agreed: "Exactly."

John asked Joe: "D'you still have it, then? The memory stick?" Joe nodded and Sherlock ordered: "Fetch it for me. If you wouldn't mind." He added and Joe sighed unhappily before standing up and going into a different room. Rose sighed, shaking her head at the man's back.

Sherlock moved to John and whispered: "Distraction over, the game continues." John pointed out: "Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber." Sherlock reminded him: "Five pips, remember, John? It's a countdown. We've only had four."

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Rose had gone to bed, and he waited for John to leave for his date with Sarah before he typed into his blog:

'Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.'  
He paused, thinking for a moment and a smile quirked as he finished:  
'The Pool. Midnight.'

He sent the message and gazed blankly into space, deep in thought. His eyes flickered downstairs to where Rose would be asleep and he breathed deeply.

* * *

At exactly midnight, Sherlock stepped into the indoor swimming pool area. He walked in slowly, and took note of how dark the gallery area was, easily able to conceal somebody. He lifted the memory stick in one hand and called loudly: "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present."

There was a silence and he called out again, smugly: "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance. All to distract me from this _._ " He lifted the memory stick higher, turning in a slow circle as he waited for a response. He was facing the door he'd entered from when he heard a door open behind him, about halfway down the pool length.

He looked over his shoulder expectantly and was almost shocked into dropping the memory stick as John Watson walked through, wrapped in a thick jacket with his hands tucked into his pocket. Sherlock stared uncomprehendingly as John said flatly: "Evening."

Sherlock slowly lowered his hand as John continued: "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" Sherlock asked, only managing a soft voice: "John. What the hell ...?" John interrupted: "Bet you never saw this coming." Sherlock turned slowly towards his friend, confused and deep inside, hurt.

But that changed into horror as John took his hands out of his pockets, opening up the jacket as he said: "What..." Sherlock's eyes widened at the explosives taped to John's jacket, "would you like me ..." a laser point from a rifle far above them appeared on the explosives, "to make him say ... next?"

Sherlock began to walk towards John, looking around intently as John said: "Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer." His voice cracked and broke a little and Sherlock ordered: "Stop it." John continued: "Nice touch, this," Sherlock turned to look behind John, still walking towards him, "the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John hid a cringe as he continued: "I can stop John Watson too."

He looked down at the laser pointed on his chest: "Stop his heart." Sherlock demanded as he looked about, almost at John now: "Who are you?" A door on the opposite end of the room opened as Sherlock's back was turned and Sherlock heard a deep voice with an Irish accent say: "I gave you my number."

The man was still hidden from view by a column as he said sadly: "I thought you might call." Sherlock turned to face the man as he stepped into view. He was dressed in a formal suit as he walked forwards, saying casually: "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket..."

Sherlock pulled the pistol from his trouser pocket. "... Or are you just pleased to see me?" Moriarty asked and Sherlock replied as he pointed the gun at the man: "Both." The man didn't even flinch as he introduced: "Jim Moriarty. Hi!" His voice went higher as he said that and Sherlock cocked his head a little- he'd heard that voice before.

Jim continued: "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed as Moriarty walked towards them and Sherlock lifted his other hand to support the one holding the gun, steadying his aim. Jim pretended to be disappointed as he said: "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that _was_ rather the point."

Sherlock jerked his head questioningly at John, who still had the laser flickering over his chest and Moriarty said: "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." He reached the end of the pool, leaving him standing directly in line with Sherlock now.

He continued: "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..." He pretended to seem surprised at the connection as he commented: "... like you!"

Sherlock began in a disgusted voice: "'Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister'?" Moriarty began to walk closer, smiling at the TV show reference while Sherlock continued: " _'_ Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America'?"

Moriarty stopped as he said: "Just so." Sherlock finished: "Consulting criminal." He breathed: _"_ Brilliant." Moriarty said proudly: "Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me... And no-one ever will." Sherlock cocked the pistol as he pointed out: "I did."

Moriarty shrugged as he commented: "You've come the closest. Now you're in my way." Sherlock replied: "Thank you." Moriarty raised a brow as he said: "Didn't mean it as a compliment." Sherlock smirked as he pointed out: "Yes you did."

Moriarty shrugged as he conceded: "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock..." His voice became high-pitched as he sang mockingly: "Daddy's had enough now." He began to walk closer again as he said in his normal voice: "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play."

He stopped, and Sherlock's gaze flickered a few times to John who was starting to look strained. Moriarty continued: "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off." He smiled as he added: "Although I have _loved_ this. This little game of ours." He put on a London accent as he said: _"_ Playing Jim from I.T."

He said back in his normal voice: "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?" Sherlock bit out: "People have died." Moriarty said lightly: "That's what people _DO!_ " He screamed the last word furiously, suddenly becoming the enraged criminal.

Sherlock said softly: "I will stop you." Moriarty said calmly: "No you won't." Sherlock turned to John and asked: "You alright?" John was looking deliberately away and Moriarty walked over, saying mockingly: "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." Sherlock was almost proud as John refused to cave to Moriarty's orders, opting to meet Sherlock's eyes and nod.

Sherlock took one hand off the pistol and held out the memory stick to Moriarty, saying harshly: "Take it." Moriarty looked over and said: "Huh? Oh! That!" He strolled past John, reaching out as he said with a grin: "The missile plans!" He took it from Sherlock, kissing it. Sherlock waited for it.

Moriarty looked at it and then sang: "Boring!" He shook his head as he said carelessly: "I could have got them anywhere." He nonchalantly tossed the stick into the pool, when John rushed forward, grabbing Moriarty and hugging him close as he said urgently: "Sherlock, run!"

Sherlock stepped back in surprise but kept his gun pointed at Moriarty, who was laughing delightedly as he said: "Good! Very good." Sherlock kept his grip firmly on the gun as John snarled: "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty, then we both go up." Moriarty just looked at Sherlock calmly as he said: "Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets."

John was grimacing angrily as he pulled Moriarty closer to the bombs sandwiched between the two men's bodies. Moriarty pretended to coo: "They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" He grinned at John and then at Sherlock as he said: "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."

The door behind Sherlock creaked open. Sherlock saw John's expression become horrified and he knew as his heart turned cold. He prayed he was wrong but he was so rarely wrong and it seemed this time wasn't a rare time. He glanced over his shoulder to see Rose walk in.

She stepped calmly and deliberately but he saw a hint of fear and concern as she stepped towards him, a laser pointed right in the center of her chest. She was looking at them directly, and she seemed to be pleading to John but the man would never let her get hurt. Moriarty sang: "Gotcha!"

He chuckled as John released him, stepping back with his hands up in surrender. Rose stopped walking, standing a few feet behind Sherlock. Moriarty straightened his suit and he gestured at it indignantly as he said: "Westwood." He stood calmly before Sherlock who turned his enraged gaze back at him, the gun pointed at his head.

Moriarty asked: "D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" Sherlock said in a bored tone, even though his heart was clenched tight and his veins boiled in anger: "Oh, let me guess: I get killed." Moriarty repeated indignantly: "Kill you?" He grimaced in distaste as he said: "Mmm, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as Moriarty continued: "No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." His voice became vicious as he snarled: "I'll burn the heart out of you." Sherlock pointed out: "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

But Moriarty smiled as he answered: "But we both know that's not quite true." His body betrayed him and he blinked. Moriarty nodded behind Sherlock as he said: "She's proof enough, isn't she?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he felt Rose tense.

Moriarty shrugged and then said lightly: "Well, I'd better be off." He turned nonchalantly to go, before turning back to Sherlock as he said: "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat." Sherlock raised the pistol to get a clear shot at Moriarty's head as he demanded: "What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

Moriarty just replied easily: "Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He pulled an exaggerated surprised face mockingly before grinning as he continued: "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would." He paused before adding: "And just a teensy bit... disappointed." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, debating it.

Moriarty added: "And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." The criminal mastermind finally turned away, saying: "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He walked off towards the door John had come through earlier and Sherlock said slowly, keeping Moriarty in his sights: "Catch ... you ... later."

Moriarty sang as he opened the door: "No you won't!" As soon as the door shut, the lasers disappeared. The three waited for a few more seconds before Sherlock dropped the pistol on the ground as John took a shaky breath. Rose was at his side as the pair unfastened the bomb vest around John.

"Alright?" Sherlock demanded as Rose tugged the vest and John just breathed heavily, his nerves completely fried. Sherlock snapped urgently: "Are you alright?" John replied: "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." The vest came undone and Sherlock rushed to pull the vest, jacket and all off his friend while Rose laid a hand on John's chest in concern as he mumbled: "I'm fine."

Sherlock pulled it off completely as John mumbled: "Sherlock, Rose." And Sherlock, also breathing fast tossed the vest away, as John said loudly: "Sherlock!" Sherlock grabbed the pistol and dashed after Moriarty, but there was no-one behind the doors.

He returned frustrated to see John leaning against the side of the changing cubicles, his legs having given out. Rose was kneeling before him as she eased John's breathing as she glanced up at Sherlock when he re-entered the pool area. John asked breathlessly: "Are you okay?" Rose nodded and John turned to Sherlock asked: "Sherlock?"

Sherlock said rapidly as he absent-mindedly scratched the back of his head with the pistol: "Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." He remembered something and turned to John, wide-eyed and breathless. "That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did, that, um..." this was more difficult than he thought, _"_... you offered to do. That was, um ... good."

John grinned a little as he shrugged: "Not much good, couldn't keep to it when Rose entered." The woman grimaced as she muttered: "Sorry." John quickly said: "No, no, not blaming you." Sherlock said distractedly: "Yes, I wouldn't ask to risk your safety. Although I suppose you did technically."

They smiled a little and John began to get up when a laser appeared on his chest. "Oh, no." Rose said. Moriarty called: "Sorry, boys! Oh, and lady I suppose. I'm soooooo changeable!" He grinned as he re-entered through a door back on the far side of the pool, while John grimaced and Sherlock looked around trying to judge how many snipers there were.

But there were too many now. Several danced across John's chest while some others appeared on Sherlock's and one found itself right on Rose's heart. Moriarty added: "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." Sherlock turned to look at John who met his gaze.

Moriarty was saying: "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." he chuckled, "everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!" John gave a tiny nod. Sherlock looked at Rose who met his gaze squarely and defiantly, and Sherlock saw trust deep in her eyes.

Sherlock replied as he turned to Moriarty: "Probably my answer has crossed yours." He pointed the pistol at Moriarty who smiled confidently. But then Sherlock slowly lowered the pistol, pointing it downwards until it was directly pointed at the bomb jacket lying between them and Moriarty.

All of them looked at the jacket and Moriarty seemed surprised and, for the first time, a little anxious. Sherlock kept his eyes on Moriarty who looked over at each of them. He met Sherlock's gaze last and then he smiled. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as they stood in a tense standoff.


	12. Life Goes On

They were in a tense standoff, Sherlock's pistol pointed at the bomb jacket. What John and Sherlock didn't know was that when Moriarty had met Rose's eyes, her face had shifted just momentarily into a smooth blank expression, before rearranging itself into baited anticipation once more.

He smirked, and turned to Sherlock, lips curling into the smile that currently graced his face. Moriarty was just about to say something, when suddenly a phone rang, and 'Stayin' Alive' began to play. Sherlock looked puzzled until Moriarty closed his eyes in irritation. Sherlock cocked his head a little and Moriarty asked apologetically: "Do you mind if I get that?" John blinked.

Sherlock just shrugged, his gun still pointed at Moriarty while his other fist was clenched tightly at his side, saying lightly: "Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life." He said grimly.

Moriarty pulled out his phone from his pocket, glancing at it and he answered: "Hello? ... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He mouthed at Sherlock: 'Sorry', cringing in annoyance at his caller. Sherlock mouthed back sarcastically: 'No problem.'

Moriarty listened when he suddenly whipped around shouting furiously: "Say that again!" Sherlock's grip on the pistol tightened while John swallowed. Moriarty ignored them as he said darkly into his phone: "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

Sherlock and John and Rose exchanged glances. Moriarty snapped: "Wait." He put his call on hold and looked at the other three. He walked towards them slowly and stopped by the bomb before he paused. He murmured while Sherlock's grip on the pistol tightened impossibly: "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

Sherlock asked mockingly: "Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Moriarty glanced at his phone and then smiled at Sherlock as he replied: "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." He turned and walked away. He took his call, ignoring Sherlock's gun on him as he said: "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

Moriarty disappeared, clicking his fingers just before he exited. At his signal, all the lasers switched off. A few beats passed in silence as they looked around warily. John gasped: "What happened there?" Sherlock murmured: "Someone changed his mind."

He paused as he locked eyes with Rose and and he asked: "The question is: who?"

* * *

As the trio re-entered to the flat later that night, Sherlock asked suddenly: "How did he get you?" He looked at Rose, and she and John glanced at him in surprise. "What?" She asked, and Sherlock clarified: "How did he get you there at the pool?"

Rose nodded in understanding and she explained easily: "Some men snuck into my flat. I should've seen it coming really, after the bomber, or should I say Moriarty, got in to place the trainers. After that, a gun to my head and the threat to kill Mrs. Hudson too had me out the door. I figured it was more likely you'd figure a way out, than Mrs. Hudson"

He nodded slowly, unable to shake the feeling that there was something in her tone that didn't ring true. Rose just nodded at the two men as she murmured: "Well, good night. Better try get some bloody sleep."

John bit his lip worriedly, but he was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock abruptly said: "Stay with us." Rose turned in surprise as John glanced at his flatmate. "What?" She asked and he repeated: "Stay with us, tonight. And tomorrow, John and I will get a new lock for your door."

John smiled, nodding. She looked at them incredulously as she pointed out: "I doubt that will stop him." Sherlock shrugged as he said: "But it will make John feel better." John nodded again, deciding he'd better not point out Sherlock would feel better too.

She opened her mouth but Sherlock cut in impatiently: "Your roots are showing darker, you have bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, you've barely eaten between work and this case, your room isn't safe and I insist you sleep in my room. I'll take the couch." She and John stared at him.

"Your room?" John asked in surprise as Rose protested: "No, if anything I should take the couch, it's your room." Sherlock interrupted, firmly ignoring John's question: "You told me to listen to my friends who worry about me, take your own advice."

She paused as she stared at him. "You worry about me." She stated it more than asked but he replied simply: "Yes." They gazed at each other once more, and John shifted uncomfortably. He quietly slid past, heading upstairs to his room as noiselessly as possible.

The pair didn't notice, they were too focused on examining each other. Her green eyes appeared to be searching his and he let her, looking deep into her eyes as she stared into his blue ones. And as they stayed locked together, something shifted.

Her green eyes let him in deeper than ever before and Sherlock was surprised at the amount of pain this woman had hidden inside her. Her genius made her eyes bright, and her generally positive attitude made them sparkle beautifully but beneath that, hidden in the depths, there lay a darkness he'd never quite noticed before.

And as Sherlock gazed down at her, his own eyes softened. His icy blue orbs melted into deep oceans, calming Rose as she stared into their comforting glow. She gazed into those eyes that could pierce the heart, and in their depths she found an emotion she hadn't seen for so long and thought so alien to this man of all others. Compassion.

And as they leant in subconsciously closer, both found a surprising glimmer, deep in the other's eyes. They both jerked away in slight alarm. Quietly, they parted, Rose heading for Sherlock's bedroom without a word. When the door closed, she leaned against it unaware that Sherlock had walked into his flat lounge and stood with a similar alarm.

Her heart was beating wildly as she recalled what she had seen, an emotion she'd thought was all but lost to her. But what terrified her more was her body's response. It had been long beaten out of her, she'd been so sure of it. And yet now she struggled against the new-found realization that just maybe… she actually loved the him.

Rose jumped as her phone vibrated, and she glanced down to see a new message. It was a picture of a beautiful woman, and beneath the photograph was one word: 'Secure.' Rose gripped her phone tightly, almost breaking it as her anger spilled over.

She opened the message and deleted it, and then her fingers hesitated. She stared at the remaining messages she'd kept- none of them were incriminating, that was the point. Her finger hovered over the delete button, as she stared at the most recent message before the photograph: 'Come to play. J.'

* * *

Over the course of the next year, John saw the change that neither Sherlock nor Rose would acknowledge. While there was no outward signs besides the occasional rare smile Sherlock gave Rose or the way her eyes lit up sometimes when she saw the man enter the room, there was a new tension in the room whenever a silence fell.

It was never obvious to those outside, as both seemed to forget about it when they were out on cases. In fact, both seemed to repress it except for sometimes when they looked into each others' eyes for a moment too long or when they were sitting in the flat silently. John couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew something was shifting between them. It was only a matter of time.

In the meantime, his blog was beginning to gain a wide popularity as John continued to write about his adventures with Sherlock and, on frequently more occasions, Rose. Many more people were coming to Sherlock, although Sherlock dismissed most of them including a woman who thought her husband was having an affair and a man who could apparently tell normal ash from regular ash.

There was one instance where Rose had hit Sherlock for going too far though. Two little girls had come to them, and one of them had said: "They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?" Sherlock had retorted rapidly: "People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special room and burned."

The little girls had looked at one another, John had chided: "Sherlock..." And Rose had whacked the insensitive detective over the head. There was one interesting case. One that Sherlock hadn't managed to crack: A man who should have died in a plane crash in Germany during a suspected terrorist attack had instead been found in a car boot in Southwark the next day.

There was one downside to Sherlock's new source of income- John's blog had become so famous it had grown into an internet phenomenon. And that meant Sherlock, and by consequence John and Rose, had risen to instant and unwanted fame. There was even a hilariously horrid photograph of Sherlock in a deerstalker.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Rose was also getting caught up in the press, to her irritation, she would've found the whole thing hilarious. Actually, she did still find the hat hilarious and often pointed it out to Sherlock, to his annoyance.

* * *

Rose woke up one day to an insistent banging. She pulled her tousled hair, the roots now grown out completely so that her hair looked like it was a two-tone style, into a messy bun as she pulled on a dressing gown over her tank top and shorts. She opened her door with a yawn to find Sherlock standing dressed in a bed sheet.

Rose blinked. "Sherlock?" He smiled at her and then grabbed her, dragging her out behind him. She stared to see two formally dressed men waiting impatiently. She looked them up and down and her eyes widened as Sherlock dragged her out and into the waiting car, the two men following in exasperation.

"Sherlock Holmes, are you wearing pants?" Rose asked as the car pulled out smoothly. "Nope." He replied and she replied flatly: "You're going to drag me to the palace in my pyjamas and dressing gown and you're not wearing pants." He replied: "Yup." She struggled to maintain her expression as she said: "Well, at least I know I won't be the most offensively dressed before the Queen."

He smiled, before cracking into laughter and she bit back her smile. He sobered up as they arrived and were led into a grand, decorated room. He sat down with his back straight as the men who'd escorted them from Baker Street placed his clothes and shoes in a neat pile on the coffee table before him. He pointedly ignored them, sitting on the elegant sofa, and Rose sat next to him.

They were sitting for maybe five minutes when John was escorted in. He asked them mutely, spreading his arms, what was going on and Sherlock and Rose shrugged back at him. John sat down and looked about the room in awe. He then glanced at Sherlock, looking him up and down quickly.

"Are you wearing any pants?" John asked and Sherlock replied flatly: "No." John replied with a straight face: "Okay." Then he and Sherlock glanced at each other and John glanced at Rose to see her eyes dancing with mirth. The three all started to laugh, finding the situation hilarious.

"At Buckingham Palace. Right." John snickered. He cleared his throat before saying: "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray." Rose and Sherlock laughed some more while John tried to keep his face straight, failing miserably.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock?" He asked at last. "Seriously, what?" Sherlock replied: "I don't know." John jested: "Here to see the Queen?" There was the sound of footsteps and they turned to see Mycroft coming around the corner.

"Oh, apparently yes." Sherlock replied and they all burst into laughter once more. Mycroft gave them a disgusted look which only caused Rose's giggles to become hysterical as she clutched Sherlock. Mycroft lifted his eyes as though praying to the heavens.

Mycroft asked, unamused: "Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?" John replied: "We solve crimes, I blog about it, she's in her pyjamas, and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." Rose giggled while Sherlock said, his face set in its impassive expression: "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

Mycroft scoffed as he said: "What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?" John frowned and Rose raised her brows questioningly while Sherlock replied: "Transparent."

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft scorned, and he bent to pick up Sherlock's clothes, offering them to his younger brother. Sherlock just looked at him, his nose upturned and Mycroft said, with repressed irritation: "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on." He ordered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he retorted: "What for?" Mycroft said pointedly: "Your client." Sherlock finally looked at his brother as he stood up, asking: "And my client is?"

"Illustrious," a man said as he walked in, "in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous." John had stood up politely, and Rose followed uncertainly. After all, she was in her dressing gown.

The man looked at Mycroft and greeted happily: "Mycroft!" He raised his hand and Mycroft dropped Sherlock's clothes on the seats opposite the three as he took the offered hand, saying: "Harry. May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine." Harry joked, and he greeted as he turned to John: "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." John greeted: "Hello, yes." The two shook hands and Harry informed him: "My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John asked and the man just continued: "Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch." John beamed as he murmured: "Thank you." He then turned to give Sherlock a smug look. Harry followed John's gaze but paused on Rose standing between the two men.

"Oh, you must be Miss Rosanne Jones." He greeted, his eyes wandering a little down her scantily clad form. She stiffened, drawing her thin gown closed around her defiantly, while Sherlock's eyes narrowed. She only wished it was longer- it, unfortunately, only fell about mid thigh. "I'm afraid I can't say I know who you are." Rose said coolly and the man smiled as he said: "I have heard about you from my employer- as I said, she is a fan of Dr. Watson's blog."

The man then turned and greeted: "And Mr Holmes the younger." He walked to stand opposite Sherlock as he commented: "You look taller in your photographs." Sherlock retorted: "I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Rose rolled her eyes. John paused and then realized the insult had been directed at him.

Sherlock had already moved on, turning to his brother as he said dismissively: "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work. Good morning." He made to walk off, but Mycroft stepped on the trailing edge of Sherlock's sheet.

Rose's eyes widened as the sheet fell off Sherlock. Only Sherlock's quick reaction saved him from complete exposure as he gripped the sheets just above his rear. Rose didn't know if she should be embarrassed or admiring as she stared at the muscles standing prominently out on Sherlock's back. She was, however, definitely highly amused.

Mycroft scolded: "This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!" Sherlock snapped: "Get off my sheet!" Mycroft countered angrily: "Or what?" "Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock retorted childishly. Rose's eyes widened when Mycroft replied: "I'll let you."

John scolded them quietly: "Boys, please. Not here. And there is a lady present." Rose shrugged as she teased: "I'm not opposed to him just walking away." Mycroft and John rolled their eyes while Sherlock bit out emphatically, trying to ignore that comment: "Who. Is. My. Client?"

Mycroft said snidely: "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now _for God's sake!"_ His voice rose sharply but he cut himself off as he glanced at Harry, before finishing in a furious whisper: "put your clothes on!"

* * *

Sherlock returned fully clothed while Rose was sat with her arms folded crossly. She was fuming that she was expected to sit with three men dressed in black suits and a military Doctor, who was at least fully dressed, while she crossed her bare legs tightly.

Sherlock dropped his sheet on her legs as he walked passed, covering them, and she nodded at him in thanks. Mycroft raised a brow but no-one commented as Sherlock sat sulkily. Mycroft poured them tea and he said lightly: "I'll be mother."

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock jibed. Mycroft looked insulted but he let it go as he sat back and Harry sat forward to say: "My employer has a problem." Mycroft explained: "A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."

Sherlock snapped out: "Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?" He almost grimaced but his eyes flicked over to Harry as the man spoke up. "People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock pretended to think about it as he said: "Not, to date, anyone with a Navy." John suppressed a smile while Rose grinned. Mycroft continued: "This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust." He gave Rose a brief glance but he looked away again, this time. She was pleasantly surprised at this change in his behaviour while John looked astonished as he asked: "You don't trust your own Secret Service?"

Mycroft scoffed: "Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." Harry interrupted: "I do think we have a timetable." Mycroft looked startled and he murmured: "Yes, of course." He cleared his throat as he reached for a briefcase. He opened it and pulled out a picture as he asked: "What do you know about this woman?"

He handed to photo to Sherlock who held it away so Rose and John could see it. Mycroft noted that Rose's eyes narrowed just a little bit when she saw the beautiful dark-haired woman in the photograph with piercing blue eyes. Sherlock replied: "Nothing whatsoever." Rose's gaze flickered to Mycroft before turning to Sherlock.

Mycroft pretended not to notice as he chided: "Then you should be paying more attention." He explained: "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

Sherlock scoffed as he examined the photo: "You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?" Mycroft replied: "Irene Adler, professionally known as 'The Woman'." John asked in surprise: "Professionally?" Mycroft nodded as he informed them: "There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'."

Sherlock was still examining the photograph and he repeated softly, thoughtful: "Dominatrix." Mycroft said condescendingly: "Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex." Sherlock looked up at that as he retorted: "Sex doesn't alarm me."

Mycroft scoffed as he smiled humourlessly at Sherlock. He asked patronizingly: "How would you know?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly at the blow while Rose's eyebrow lifted. Mycroft just continued: "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website."

He reached into the case pulled out an envelope, handing it to Sherlock who pulled out more photographs. He flipped through them, examining each as Rose and John peered over his shoulder. John was looking a little stunned as he drank his tea. Sherlock kept his face impassive while Rose's eyebrows lifted as each photo became slightly more erotic than the last.

Sherlock asked: "And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." Harry commented: "You're very quick, Mr Holmes." Rose snorted and Sherlock agreed as he retorted: "Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?" He looked at Harry directly.

The man paused and glanced at Mycroft before saying evasively: "A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time." John asked flatly: "You can't tell us anything?" Mycroft sighed a little before he revealed: "I can tell you it's a young person. A young female person." John looked shocked, Rose's lips thinned and Sherlock smirked.

Harry saw it and swallowed nervously while Mycroft paused, knowing that was enough. Sherlock moved on as he asked: "How many photographs?" Mycroft replied: "A considerable number, apparently." Sherlock confirmed: "Do Miss Adler and this 'young female person' appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do." Mycroft replied and John froze with his teacup still in the air. Rose was pursing her lips as Sherlock added: "And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios." Mycroft responded: "An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sherlock suggested: "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now." John did so hurriedly, breaking out of his stunned trance as Harry asked: "Can you help us, Mr Holmes?"

"How?" Sherlock demanded and Harry asked: "Will you take the case?" Sherlock retorted: "What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten'." Sherlock made to grab his coat and leave when Mycroft interrupted.

"She doesn't want anything." Sherlock paused, finally interested as Mycroft informed them: "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

"Oh, a power play." Sherlock realized. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?" Rose's eyes narrowed slightly while John warned tiredly: "Sherlock ..." Sherlock ignored him as he asked as he grabbed his coat: "Hmm. Where is she?"

Mycroft began: "Uh, in London currently. She's staying ..." Sherlock interrupted as he stood and walked off: "Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day." Harry asked incredulously: "Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Sherlock turned to say confidently: "No, I think I'll have the photographs."

Harry seemed flabbergasted before he commented: "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." Sherlock scanned the man quickly before turning to Mycroft and saying expectantly: "I'll need some equipment, of course." Mycroft nodded, saying: "Anything you require. I'll have it sent to ..."

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock interrupted, raising an expectant hand to Harry. Rose sighed while the man asked confused: "I'm sorry?" John also looked confused while Mycroft groaned a little. Sherlock added: "Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do."

Harry leveled a look at Sherlock as he said firmly: "I don't smoke." Sherlock dismissed: "No, I know _you_ don't, but your employer does." Harry paused and reached inside his jacket for the lighter as he said: "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock retorted in a low voice: "I'm not the Commonwealth." Rose rolled her eyes as Sherlock turned to leave. "And that's as modest as he gets." John chimed in, and turned to Harry, saying: "Pleasure to meet you."

Rose nodded at him in farewell, though she threw one last glance at the photos. The two followed Sherlock out as he called mockingly cheery: "Laters!"


	13. A Scandal in Belgravia

As they sat in the car back to Baker Street, John asked: "Okay, the smoking. How did you know?" Rose snorted, making the first sound since they'd left. John looked relieved to hear the young woman say something at last, even if it was derisively but Sherlock didn't even seem to notice as he replied: "The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe."

John asked confusedly: "Observe what?" Sherlock turned to Rose and said expectantly: "Rose." She piped up: "Ashtray." John blinked and Sherlock pulled said item out of his coat pocket. He tossed it contently while John began to laugh. Rose cracked a giggle as well, and Sherlock chuckled.

Suddenly, Sherlock said: "Rose." She looked at him questioningly and he told her: "The hiker and the backfire case. Two men are alone in the countryside, several yards apart and near a river. One man is trying to fix his car engine, and getting nowhere. The other man, the hiker, is looking up at the sky, possibly watching the birds. The man in the car tries to restart his car but it just backfired. Defeated, he glanced over at the hiker, but the hiker was lying on the ground."

John added: "The driver is the main suspect, though Sherlock shot that idea down. The hiker was murdered from a blow to the back of his head by a blunt instrument which then disappeared without a trace." Rose's eyebrows lifted, and Sherlock smirked. "Can you figure it out?" He asked, and she replied: "A loud noise, the hiker turned to look… what can you tell me about his job?

John looked surprised at that question while Sherlock replied: "He was an accomplished sportsman." John tried: "So, he was fit, right? Since he was a sportsman? So how come he just died from a blow when there was no-one else there?"

Rose meanwhile had smiled and Sherlock grinned. "The hiker wasn't murdered, John." She said and John frowned. "What?" He asked and Rose smiled as she asked Sherlock: "Boomerang?" His eyes gleamed and she knew she was right. John looked confused but decided not to question it anymore as they arrived back at their flat.

When they returned to 221B, Sherlock immediately went to his room began to throw outfits around, flinging them out of his dressers and letting them hit his open door. John heard the noise and he asked: "What are you doing?" Rose sighed while Sherlock replied: "Going into battle, John. I need the right armour."

John turned to see Sherlock appear in his doorway wearing a fireman's jacket. "No." He declared and went back to change again. John looked at Rose but she shook her head, looking exasperated, amused and- John frowned- just a little bit worried.

The two soon left again, getting in a cab, Sherlock having eventually only changed his scarf, although Rose saw him pocket a clerical collar. Rose had opted to sit out, knowing she didn't really have a good place in Sherlock's plan. But as soon as they were out, she couldn't help but become worried. Irene Adler was a professional flirt- for want of a better word- and a dangerous woman.

She sighed. Her job was to wait. But it didn't mean she was happy to do it.

* * *

Rose was alarmed when she heard John and Sherlock return with a crash. She was even more worried when she heard Lestrade's voice. Walking out onto the landing she saw Lestrade and John dragging a mostly unconscious Sherlock up the stairs.

Sherlock was mumbling incoherently as he flailed about, as though he was both drunk and drugged. "What the hell?" She demanded as she hurried over, letting them through as they dragged the man towards his room and his bed. She followed them and as they dumped him the bed, she demanded: "What happened?"

John glanced at her and he admitted sheepishly: "Adler drugged him with something. I'm not sure what, she said to watch that he didn't choke on his own vomit but that otherwise he should be alright." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She knew what drug John was talking about.

She also saw Lestrade shaking with laughter. "What?" She demanded and he looked at her surprised and a little guilty but he told her: "Nothing, he was just hilarious. I've never seen him spouting such gibberish."

"He filmed him." John told her and Rose nodded. The DI left them, going home while sniggering. John looked surprised and asked: "You're not going to stop him?"

"Why should I?" She retorted a little sharply as she gazed down at Sherlock with a mix of disgust… and disappointment, John realized. Rose continued scornfully: "He should've known better than to fall for a woman's wiles." John looked surprised as he asked: "How did you know?" She looked at him.

"He wouldn't be here, drugged, if he had gotten the photographs. She beat him, and I'll bet it was because he couldn't keep his eyes off her." John shifted uncomfortably, remembering what Adler had said about the key code to her safe being her measurements. Sherlock had known them, so he'd obviously looked. Rose snorted and said: "I'm heading off to bed. Wake me if you need me."

John nodded, wishing her good night. He paused as he looked down at Sherlock who was still muttering incoherently. But as he was leaving, he heard Sherlock moan: "No…" He turned in concern to see Sherlock's brows furrowed. John hesitated but then his eyes widened as Sherlock gasped: "Green not blue… 30, no 32…"

He stared at Sherlock but his friend's mutterings became increasingly incoherent after that and slowly became more infrequent. So John left as well to get some shut-eye on the coach, confused by what Sherlock had said. 'Green not blue'? Did he mean Rose, who had green eyes? But it didn't make sense- Rose was twenty-five, not thirty. What had Sherlock meant?

He was awoken a few hours later when he heard Sherlock shouted: "John!" It was followed by a thump and he peered in to see Sherlock on the ground, looking dazed. "You okay?" He asked in concern and Sherlock asked bewildered: "How did I get here?"

John said a little nervously: "Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone." Sherlock just asked: "Where is she?" He began to stumble about the room, and John frowned. "Where's who?"

"The woman. That woman." Sherlock demanded as he wobbled on his feet. John asked in confusion: "What woman? Rose?" Sherlock insisted as he stumbled about: " _The_ woman. The _woman_ woman!" John finally understood and he said: "What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her. She wasn't here, Sherlock."

Sherlock began to peer at the windows and then stumbled around again. "What are you ...? What ...?" Sherlock fell to the ground but tried to get up and John scolded: "No, no, no, no." He hauled his friend up and let him fall back onto his bed. "Back to bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep." He tucked Sherlock in and turned to leave.

Sherlock said in quick succession: "Of course I'll be fine. I _am_ fine. I'm absolutely fine." He said very convincingly- not. John paused but just sighed and muttered: "Yes, you're great. Now I'll be next door if you need me." Sherlock said derisively: "Why would I need you?" John muttered: "No reason at all." He shut the door and left Sherlock alone.

As he did there was a sensual moan and Sherlock opened his eyes and turned. Sitting up on his bed, he peered at his coat hanging on the back of his door. Except… he'd given the coat to the woman. He stumbled over to the coat, and reached into the pocket, pulling out his phone. He checked the message, which read: 'Till the next time, Mr. Holmes.'

Sherlock frowned as he stared at it, and then- when he realized what must've happened- he glanced around the empty room and stayed in thought for a long time.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock sat in his chair, reading the paper as though it were a normal day. John was eating his breakfast beside him and Mrs. Hudson was tinkering about in the kitchen. The only two unusual things were the absence of Rose, who'd become an integrated part of 221B and its inhabitant's lives, and the presence of Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock said simply: "The photographs are perfectly safe." Mycroft pointed out as he held his umbrella: "In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." Sherlock sighed as he explained: "She's not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

Mycroft frowned and he pointed out: "How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied." Sherlock jibed: "She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'Get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." John piped up. He smiled at Mycroft in fake innocence and Mycroft mimicked it exactly in return, when there was a sensual moan. They all blinked and looked around. John asked, bewildered: "What was that?" Sherlock glanced around sheepishly before answering: "Text." Sherlock walked over to fetch his phone while they all stared.

"But what was that noise?" John asked, when a voice chimed in from the doorway: "It was a text." They all turned in surprise to see Rose with her arms folded, leaning on the doorway. All three men blinked at her, especially her wet hair. Sherlock's eyes narrowed while Mycroft's brow lifted and John's furrowed. She'd dyed it completely blonde again.

"You're looking better." Rose commented to Sherlock. "Er, thank you…" He began but she cut in. "Which says something for how you looked last night." She jibed as she took in his cut and slightly bruised face. He stiffened a little, and John was surprised to hear the cold tone in Rose's voice.

Sherlock turned away from her as he asked his brother, continuing their conversation: "Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess." John remembered and chimed in sarcastically: "Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft."

Mrs. Hudson walked in, carrying a breakfast plate for Sherlock as she said: "It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft sighed: "Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson."

Immediately Sherlock and Rose snapped: "Mycroft!" while John said sharply: "Oi!" All four of them, with Mrs. Hudson, looked at the older Holmes indignantly. He looked surprised and at last turned to Mrs. Hudson and said with a fake smile: "Apologies." Mrs. Hudson huffed: "Thank you."

She began to walk away as Sherlock added: "Though do, in fact, shut up." There was another sensual moan. Mrs. Hudson started while Sherlock glanced down at his phone. John saw Rose's eyes tighten just a little, and Mycroft also turned to look at her in interest. Sherlock glanced briefly at her as well but she just looked at him coolly.

"Aren't you going to check it?" She asked, a slight mocking tone hidden underneath the casual remark. "Ooh. It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson asked, flustered as she headed back into the kitchen and Sherlock sulkily checked his text message. He then ignored it as he told his brother: "There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see."

Mycroft informed him snidely: "I can put maximum surveillance on her." Sherlock challenged as he continued to read his paper: "Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand'." Mycroft glanced at Rose as he replied: "Yes. Most amusing."

She saw his look and just met his gaze coldly as well. He arched an eyebrow, looking faintly amused and she scowled when he turned away to answer his phone as it began to ring. "Excuse me. Hello."

Sherlock lifted his gaze to watch his brother and then glanced at Rose again, who was absently braiding her wet hair. John turned to ask Sherlock in a low voice: "Why does your phone make that noise?" Sherlock feigned ignorance as he asked: "What noise?"

John wasn't having it as he jerked his head at the cell, saying: "That noise, the one it just made." Sherlock glanced at Rose but she was studiously ignoring him as he explained flatly: "It's a text alert. It means I've got a text." John mused: "Hmm. Your texts don't usually make that noise."

Sherlock tried to dissuade John as he said tonelessly: "Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise." He glanced at Rose again and John saw. He said thoughtfully: "Hmm. So every time they text you ..." He trailed off suggestively and there was another moan.

John's brows lifted, Mrs. Hudson raised her head in despair while Rose continued to ignore Sherlock. Sherlock muttered to John: "It would seem so." He checked his message while Mrs. Hudson pleaded: "Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it's..."

She trailed off as Sherlock went back to his paper and she turned to Rose as she asked: "Can't you ask him?" Rose looked at the landlady and asked innocently: "Ask who what?" Mrs. Hudson gave up while John said pointedly: "I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone," Sherlock hid his face in the paper, "because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?"

Sherlock merely said: "I'll leave you to your deductions." John muttered: "I'm not stupid, you know." Sherlock really wished John would let it go. He was not liking the reactions Rose was displaying. It made him snap a little at John as he retorted: "Where do you get that idea?"

Mycroft returned to the room as he finished his call: "Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." Sherlock looked at him and he asked intently: "What else does she have?" Mycroft lifted a brow questioningly and Sherlock demanded: "Irene Adler." John could feel the tension radiating off Rose, and even Mycroft was concerned the young woman would break something soon from the way she was tightly gripping the back of John's armchair.

Sherlock was oblivious at the moment, too focused on his brother as he stated: ""The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs." His eyes narrowed. "There's more." He stood up and walked right up to his brother as he murmured: "Much more. Something big's coming, isn't it?"

Mycroft just said to him coldly: "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this." Sherlock challenged: "Oh, will I?" John winced for Rose but the girl herself remained impassive, loosening her hands as she let them hang at her sides once more. Mycroft just replied levelly and warningly: "Yes, Sherlock, you will _._ "

Sherlock just scoffed and moved to his armchair, fetching his violin. Mycroft said lightly: "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend." Sherlock jibed: "Do give her my love." He began to play 'God save the Queen' and Mycroft left with a disgusted look. Sherlock glanced at Rose, but she remained cold and a little aloof so he sulkily turned his back on her as well.

* * *

When Christmas rolled around, it was still no better between the pair. While Sherlock didn't act differently, anyone could see the difference in Rose. She was cold to Sherlock, and although he pretended not to notice or care, it made him anxious. It was almost like when they'd first met, except now it was worse because he actually cared but he didn't know how to repair the rift between them.

John was concerned too, worried for Rose and exasperated with Sherlock. He'd tried to get the consulting detective to apologize, but Sherlock remained adamant that he'd done nothing wrong. But John could see Sherlock's nervous gaze whenever silence fell in their flat, which it now often did as Rose refused to speak with Sherlock. Sherlock reacted in the most mature and composed manner befitting a thirty year old man: he refused to speak to her, as well.

All in all, John was relieved when Christmas rolled around and there were more people gathered in their flat for the festive season. Sherlock was currently playing the violin before the small gathering in 221B, for Mrs. Hudson's enjoyment as they celebrated Christmas Eve together. He finished with a flourish and Mrs. Hudson said delightedly: "Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" John chimed in from where he was bringing in the punch from the kitchen: "Marvellous!"

Mrs. Hudson was giggling as she held her glass of champagne and saying: "I wish you could have worn the antlers!" Sherlock smiled as he rejected gently: "Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson." Rose was beaming from her seat in John's armchair, sitting across from Mrs. Hudson and smiling at the old woman fondly.

John offered Mrs. Hudson a cup of tea, saying: "Mrs H." Mrs. Hudson rejected it, still giggling and making Rose chuckle too. John's date brought in the tray of pies, offering one to Sherlock, who replied: "No thank you, Sarah." She tensed and John said quickly, trying to salvage the moment: "Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names."

Sherlock argued: "No-no-no, I can get this. No, Sarah was the doctor;" John grimaced while his date folded her arms, "and then there was the one with the spots;" Rose face-palmed while John's date folded her lips in anger, "and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?" He asked, and the woman glared as she said: "Nobody."

Sherlock got it and cried: "Jeanette! Ah, process of elimination." John looked at his date appealingly and Rose called: "Sorry about him, Jeanette. But I think you're wonderful." Jeanette looked at the girl startled, but smiled a little and John sent her a grateful look.

They heard someone coming up the stairs and Sherlock groaned: "Oh, dear Lord." Rose turned to see Molly, her hair set beautifully and carrying several bags of gifts. She said nervously as she entered: "Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up."

John moved to greet her, Rose smiled as she got up and everyone murmured their greetings while Sherlock groaned: "Oh, everybody's saying 'hullo' to each other. How wonderful." He said sarcastically and Rose sent him a glare that switched into a smile as she hugged her friend. "Hello, Molly." She said kindly and the older woman beamed. John moved to take Molly's coat, saying: "Let me, er ... holy Mary!"

He gaped as Molly revealed a pretty, but tightfitting black evening dress. Lestrade murmured, whistling a little: "Wow!" Rose's eyes widened and then softened kindly as she complimented: "You look beautiful Molly." Molly beamed at her and asked nervously: "Having a Christmas drinkies, then?"

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock grumbled and Mrs. Hudson explained: "It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!" Sherlock was on John's laptop, again, as John pulled up a seat for Molly, saying politely: "Have a seat."

"John?" Sherlock interrupted. John hummed and Lestrade offered Molly a drink as Sherlock continued: "The counter on your blog: still says 1,895." John came over to look and joked: "Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!" Rose smiled as Sherlock said angrily: "And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"

"People like the hat." John defended and Sherlock scoffed: "No they don't. What people?" He demanded while John just walked away, and Rose chimed in: "I like the hat." Sherlock looked at her in surprise as she leant down to look at the photograph. She blinked as she realized what she'd said, and withdrew sharply. Sherlock watched her carefully as she turned away.

"How's the hip?" Molly asked Mrs. Hudson and the landlady replied: "Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking." Molly replied: "I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Everyone paused and Rose winced. Molly quickly said: "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes, Molly." Sherlock advised and she agreed: "No. Sorry." She whispered to Mrs. Hudson before accepting a glass of wine from Lestrade with a quick 'thanks'. Rose moved over to talk to the landlady, removing the awkwardness, and Molly turned to Lestrade as she said: "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

Lestrade nodded as he said: "That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together. It's all sorted." He smiled and Sherlock said absently as he looked at the computer: "No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Rose sighed- really, this man.

Molly tried to converse with John next as she commented: "And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" John nodded as he confirmed: "Yeah." Molly smiled as she told him: "Sherlock was complaining. ... saying." She corrected hastily. Rose lifted her eyes to the heavens- between Molly and Sherlock, she had a feeling her hands would be full tonight.

John chose to pass over that as he commented happily: "First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." Sherlock interjected: "Nope." John muttered: "Shut up, Sherlock." Sherlock seemed to be very put out as he commented: "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

He smiled at her and Molly asked: "What? Sorry, what?" Sherlock continued: "In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." He nodded at the gift bag and finished with a fake smile. Rose's eyes widened in alarm while John muttered: "Take a day off."

"Shut up and have a drink." Lestrade agreed. Sherlock scoffed as he said: "Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow." He stood up as he continued: "All the others are slapdash at best. It's for someone special, then." Rose was alarmed as Molly looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"The shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind." "Sherlock." Rose said quietly- no one else yet knew just how bad the situation was, and Rose was anxious to keep it that way. But Sherlock had to choose now to ignore her as she'd been ignoring him for months.

He went on: "The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn;" "Sherlock." Rose warned, but he forged ahead, "and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."

Rose closed her eyes at that while Sherlock trailed off, having seen the name inside the card. Molly began to sob dryly, fighting back tears while the whole room was silent. Molly said in a small, hurt voice: "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." She bowed her head while Rose opened her eyes, furious with Sherlock. But she softened just a little at Sherlock's lost expression.

Sherlock murmured, contrite: "I am sorry. Forgive me." They all looked up in surprise at that. Rose sighed quietly, unable to feel angry with him anymore as Sherlock leaned in to give poor Molly an apologetic kiss on the cheek as he whispered: "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." As he leaned back, there was another women's sensual moan.

John and Rose looked irritated while Molly said, flustered: "No! That wasn't ... I – I didn't..." Sherlock interrupted: "No, it was me." Molly looked flabbergasted and Lestrade asked in shock: "My God, really?" Molly gasped at the same time: "What?"

"My _phone._ " Sherlock clarified and John commented: "Fifty-seven?" Sherlock asked: "Sorry, what?" He turned around to check his phone as John said pointedly: "Fifty-seven of those texts, the ones I've heard." Sherlock turned sharply, looking at the mantle as he murmured: "Thrilling that you've been counting."

He walked up to the mantle, and picked something up, paused and then said: "Excuse me." Rose tensed as she saw him carrying a box out, while John asked: "What, what's up, Sherlock?" Sherlock just left the room, repeating: "I said excuse me."

"Do you ever reply?" John demanded but Sherlock left without a word. Molly took a shot of her wine, starting to shake a little, and Rose, after giving her a sympathetic glance murmured her excuses and walked after Sherlock in concern, John following close behind her.


	14. The Woman

The pair stood by Sherlock's door. John in front and Rose behind. She was torn, especially when they heard Sherlock's side of the phone call he was having with whom she guessed to be Mycroft.

"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight." He said as John paused at the door. He clarified: "No, I mean you're going to find her dead." He hung up and stood up from his bed, turning to his door. John asked: "You okay?" Sherlock paused when he saw Rose behind John, looking at him concernedly.

"Yes." He answered at last and took the door handle between his fist. He hesitated and asked quietly: "Rose, can I speak with you?" She looked a little surprised and hesitant, but she walked in and Sherlock shut the door on John.

Rose looked at him curiously as he looked down at her. A minute passed in silence before she said softly: "We heard… I'm sorry." His eyes narrowed and he demanded: "Sorry because you heard or sorry she's dead?" Her face fell a little but she replied quietly: "Both."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded. "You've been ignoring me and insulting me since I returned from her house. Why care now?" Rose bowed her head. She said, quietly: "Because you're hurting." He asked testily: "But you didn't care when I was hurting for the past few months?"

She looked up in surprise and Sherlock saw the genuine shock. "You…" Suddenly she looked incredibly hurt, although she hid it well. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as she said in a deathly calm voice: "I see. Sorry, I didn't realize you'd been pining for her the whole time. I assumed her constant texts and the sound of her wondrous voice were enough. My mistake."

She was back to being cold but Sherlock suddenly realized what had been going on for the past few months. And it gave him startling hope. Rose was making to leave as he grabbed her and pulled her to him. She looked completely startled as he looked at her intensely.

"You're jealous." He was watching her face closely, and when he said the words, her face betrayed her. For the briefest moment, fear flickered across her face. Sherlock's eyes lit up and his heart hammered with sudden delight when suddenly she pulled away. He was confused, and then in pain as she slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you." She spat. Sherlock clutched his face in shock at the sheer force she'd put behind the blow. "How dare you, when you've just hurt my friend who loved you, and I try to comfort you when you lost a woman you cared for, how dare you try to stroke your vain ego." Sherlock was confused but Rose was absolutely furious as she shoved past him and walked out.

Sherlock was bewildered and stood in shock when he heard the front door slam. He thought back and realized where he'd gone wrong. He turned, intending to follow her, but his phone rang. He glanced at it to see it was Mycroft. When he answered, Mycroft had the news he'd requested.

* * *

Rose hadn't returned for a week. Sherlock was sulking, and John didn't know what to do. Sherlock had been composing mournful songs, and he could only assume it was for Adler. After all, he'd taken the cigarette from Mycroft on Christmas when they'd discovered Adler, dead.

Both he and Mycroft assumed Sherlock had been affected by her death, although sometimes John did wonder if Sherlock's moping was only worse because Rose was gone too. He didn't know what had happened on Christmas, but Rose had left the flat in complete fury, not stopping no matter how much John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade called after her.

Rose was, in fact, spending the week with Molly. She was both avoiding Sherlock and cheering up her friend after the disaster on Christmas Eve. She'd heard about the incident at the morgue from Molly, and had sighed when Molly told her Sherlock had somehow identified the woman from her body, not the face. But she refused to divulge to Molly why she'd sighed and Molly eventually let it go.

Sherlock meanwhile was in a foul mood because Rose was angry with him, and then left him alone. He'd never bothered that he'd spent Christmas alone, but this time he'd wanted to spend it with her, especially now that he knew she returned his feelings. He'd been in such a foul mood that he'd readily accepted the cigarette from Mycroft on Christmas.

He'd tried to call her but she never replied nor returned his calls. He regretted more than anything that he hadn't chased her down that night. All he'd been doing since was compose. He knew John and Mrs. Hudson were concerned since he'd even started skipping his meals, more so than usual, but between Adler's mystery and Rose he was unable to think.

John was worried sick as he and Mrs. Hudson watched Sherlock on News Years Eve morning. He was just composing, and had declared that John's blog counter, still stuck on 1,895 was a message. He'd tried it on Adler's phone, but it was incorrect and Sherlock had dejectedly returned to composing.

John asked Mrs. Hudson as he was about to leave, determined to find Rose and bring her home at least: "Listen: has he ever had any kind of... girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?" Mrs. Hudson whispered: "I don't know." John muttered in exasperation: "How can we not know?" Mrs. Hudson pointed out: "He's Sherlock. How will we _ever_ know what goes on in that funny old head?"

John sighed before saying: "Right. See ya." He walked out of 221, to the sound of Sherlock's composing and mentally cursed his fate and his two impossibly stubborn friends. He was just heading out when a woman called: "John?" He turned absently, saying: "Yeah. Hello." He took in the beautiful woman leaning on the railings outside the flat. "Hello!" He repeated, more enthusiastically.

The woman asked: "So, any plans for New Year tonight?" John thought of Rose and he replied slowly: "Er, nothing fixed. Why, you have any ideas?" He asked and the woman smiled as she said: "One."

John groaned as a car pulled up and he grumbled: "You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex." He got into the car, continuing to grumble, and complained the whole way to an abandoned warehouse. Even as he got out, he asked: "Couldn't we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere."

The woman just led him silently inside and then stopped by a door, indicating: "Through there." John walked off, not knowing the woman was calling their mystery caller: "He's on his way. You were right, he thinks it's Mycroft."

John obliviously walked into the warehouse. He saw no-one there and called, looking around: "He's writing sad music; doesn't eat; barely talks, only to correct the television. I'd say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyw..." John trailed off as he saw the figure walked up to him.

"Hello, Dr. Watson." Irene Adler said. John stared at her dumbly for a while and she looked at him expectantly. He finally said: "Tell him you're alive." Irene replied coolly: "He'd come after me." John snapped back: "I'll come after you if you don't."

"Mmm, I believe you." She smiled and John said angrily: "You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you." Irene shrugged as she said: "DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep." She smirked and John muttered angrily: "And I bet you know the record-keeper."

She smiled as she admitted: "I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear." John retorted, slowly becoming more and more agitated: "Then how come I can see you, and I don't even want to?" She answered sincerely, to his surprise: "Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help."

"No." John said flatly. Irene lifted a brow and commented lightly: "It's for his own safety." John argued, struggling to maintain calm: "So's this: tell him you're alive." Irene's eyes narrowed as she answered: "I can't." John snarled angrily: "Fine. I'll tell him, and I still won't help you." He made to leave and she called after him: "What do I say?"

John snapped as he turned to her: "What do you normally say? You've texted him a lot." She shrugged as pulled out her phone and she said: "Just the usual stuff." John pointed out flatly: "There is no 'usual' in this case." She almost sighed and read out her past messages for him: "Good morning. I like your funny hat"; "I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner" ... "You looked sexy on 'Crimewatch.' Let's have dinner"; "I'm not hungry, let's have dinner".

John stared at her in disbelief as he asked: "You... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?" She corrected as she typed on her phone: "At him. He never replies." John countered: "No, Sherlock always replies – to everything. He's 'Mr Punchline'. He will outlive God trying to have the last word." She smirked at him.

"Does that make me special?" Irene asked coyly, and John paused thinking of Rose. John admitted: "I don't know. Maybe." Irene smirked: "Are you jealous?" John sighed: "We're not a couple." Irene retorted: "Yes you are." She finished her message and read for him: "There ... 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner'."

John was beyond incredulous and completely fed up with the whole thing as she sent the text, and he finally blurted: "Who ... who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but, for the record, if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay." Irene retorted: "Well, I _am_." She looked at him levelly as she said contemplatively: "Look at us both."

John scoffed, opening his mouth to argue when suddenly they heard a woman's moan from behind a wall of machinery. John lifted his head in horror while Irene turned to the sound. John made to move after but Irene lifted a hand to stop him as she said: "I don't think so, do you?" He stopped as he thought to himself: _Oh God. What have I done? Sherlock…_

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock wandered back to Baker Street in daze. He'd followed John, hoping to find Rose. Instead, he'd found Irene Adler alive. She'd beaten him twice now, successfully faking her death from both himself and his brother. He returned feeling as though his whole world had turned upside down.

But he when he arrived in front of 221, he paused at the door, refocusing his mind as he noticed something was wrong. It had been forced open and from what he could see the lock was broken. He pushed the door open carefully and it fell open at the right touch. He stepped in carefully, taking everything in. The open door to 221A, the cleaning bucket on the ground by the stairs.

He examined the stairs as he went up slowly, and saw the scuffmarks on the bottom corner, where male feet had been cuffed as they went up the stairs. And on the walls, faint chips and nail marks where someone had been forced up the stairs, dragged against their will. His face set angrily as he saw how it had happened all inside his head.

He stepped into 221B slowly, careful but deliberate, glaring at the assailants as one pressed his gun to Mrs. Hudson's head. She was sitting on a chair in the centre of the sitting room, whimpering as he walked in: "Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!"

Sherlock said curtly, not taking his eyes off the other three men in the room: "Don't snivel, Mrs Hudson." His eyes focused on the American from Adler's house months ago. "It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet. What a tender world that would be." He added scornfully, making the American's lip curl slightly.

"Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson whimpered, raising her hands to her mouth, when the American spoke: "I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes." Sherlock said testily as he moved forward slowly: "Then why don't you ask for it?" He took Mrs. Hudson's hand gently, reassuring her as she whimpered his name. Sherlock gently moved the woman's sleeves a little aside, examining the bruises.

The American said nonchalantly as he gestured the gun at the landlady: "I've been asking this one. She doesn't seem to know anything." Sherlock's gaze became cold. "But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr Holmes?" Sherlock looked at the bruises all along Mrs Hudson's neck. He saw a cut on her cheek and saw her blood on the American's ring, presumably from when he'd punched his fist into the landlady's face.

And as Sherlock raised his eyes to the American's face his scan was not for information but for locating all the pressure points to hurt this man before him. But Sherlock didn't act on his impulsive desire as he stood straight and replied coolly: "I believe I do." The American had switched to pointing his gun at Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson sobbed: "Oh, please, Sherlock."

Sherlock stepped back and he ordered: "First, get rid of your boys." The American challenged: "Why?" Sherlock retorted immediately: "I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room." The American conceded that as he said simply to his companions: "You two, go to the car."

Sherlock interjected: "Then get into the car and drive away." The American looked at him but Sherlock just said pointedly: "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work." The American nodded and the other two men left. As they walked out the door, Sherlock nodded at the gun as he said: " Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?" The man scoffed and Sherlock replied as he spread his arm out wide: "I'm unarmed." The American said disbelievingly: "Mind if I check?" "Oh, I insist." Sherlock emphasized the last word. The American moved to pat Sherlock down, and Mrs. Hudson begged softly: "Don't do anything."

The American kept his gun pointed at Sherlock as he flipped the man's coat open, checking his sides. He then circled around, patting Sherlock's sides and back and Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. As the American bent to check Sherlock's legs, Sherlock grabbed the can of cleaning spray from his right pocket.

He spun around, spraying the American quickly in the face, causing the man to cry out in pain as the spray entered his eyes. Sherlock took the moment of surprise to harshly head-butt the American agent, causing the man to fall onto the coffee table, out cold.

"Moron." Sherlock muttered. He placed the can on the desk beside him and walked over to check Mrs. Hudson, who began to sob at last. She whispered as he bent to touch her cheek: "Oh, thank you." He replied quietly and soothingly as he checked the old woman: "You're alright now, you're alright." She replied, nodding frantically: "Yes." Sherlock, satisfied that she wasn't severely injured, turned his cold eyes back to the unconscious man as he folded his lips and clenched his jaw tightly.

* * *

John came back from meeting Irene, sighing as he tried to think of what to say to Sherlock. He paused as he saw a card hanging on the knocker of 221, and read it in confusion: 'Crime in progress. PLEASE DISTURB.' He glanced around the street, but nothing looked suspicious so he walked in, climbing up the stairs to 221B carefully.

He asked slowly: "What's going on?" And when he stepped into the living room he saw. "Jeez." He stared at the American agent they'd met at Irene's house before, sitting tied to a chair in the centre of the room with his mouth taped shut. "What the hell is happening?" John asked

Sherlock was waiting for a call on his phone to go through while he held a pistol aimed at the American agent. He replied tersely: "Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe." John turned in disbelief and saw the landlady sitting on the couch, still shaken. John cried: "Oh, Mrs Hudson, my God. Are you all right?"

He sat beside her, placing an arm comfortingly around her as he looked at the American and asked: "Jesus, what have they done to you?" The woman burst into sobs, saying tearfully: "Oh, I'm just being so silly." John reassured her: "No, no."

"John, any news from Rose?" Sherlock asked suddenly, and John paused, shaking his head as he replied: "Um, no, I don't-" Sherlock interrupted: "I tried calling, again, but she didn't reply… again. I left her a message but…" He trailed off as both men heard the front door slam and footsteps running up the stairs.

The blonde woman herself rushed in, taking one look at the agent and then scanning the room. She spotted Mrs. Hudson and rushed over while Sherlock remained silent and John gaped at her. "Sherlock left me a message- Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" Rose asked concernedly as she took the older woman's hands and looked her over gently.

"Oh, no, it's fine." The older woman said tearfully. Rose looked over at John with concern while he blinked at her and Sherlock piped up: "Downstairs. Both of you take her downstairs and look after her." Sherlock and Rose locked eyes for a split second while John nodded as he helped Mrs. Hudson up, saying: "Alright, it's alright. I'll have a look at that."

Mrs. Hudson was limping just a little, her hip and knees sore but she dismissed it as she said shakily: "I'm fine, I'm fine." John asked Sherlock quietly: "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Sherlock replied quietly but sternly: "I expect so. Now go." John left, seeing Sherlock's fury boiling beneath his calm demeanour, but Rose stayed. He glanced at her and she answered: "I wanted to see him pay."

He nodded as someone finally answered his call and he said calmly: "Lestrade? We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." The American watched him as Sherlock continued, putting his gun down: "Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured."

The American glared at him around his bloody, quite possibly broken nose, as Sherlock listed: "Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung." Sherlock glanced at the agent who was looking puzzled while Rose smiled grimly. Sherlock replied to Lestrade's question: "He fell out of a window."

* * *

Rose stood with her arms folded outside 221, Sherlock and Lestrade beside her as they watched the ambulance drive off. Lestrade asked with some amusement: "And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" He gave the two pointed looks to which Rose and Sherlock answered with innocent expressions.

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector." Sherlock replied. "I lost count." Lestrade looked a mix of amused and exasperated as he walked away, leaving them. Rose turned and walked back into the flats, going to join Mrs. Hudson and John in the landlady's kitchen. Sherlock followed, but grabbed her just outside the door to 221A.

"Please-" he began but she cut him off as she sighed: "I'm sorry." He frowned at that as he asked: "What?" She looked at him guiltily as she replied: "Sorry. I overreacted, and I shouldn't have left like some rebellious teenager. If I'd been here, Mrs. Hudson might not have-"

He cut her off this time as he said firmly: "She might have been worse off, they only needed one hostage and they might've hurt her more to keep her quiet. And even if you had been here, what good would you have been against three larger men, highly trained in combat?"

She made a face as she muttered: "I suppose." She tugged on her sleeve nervously, something he noticed, but he refocused on her face as she added: "But I'm still sorry about leaving like that, and for slapping you. I overreacted, and you were hurting. It wasn't your fault, not completely, and not enough to warrant my actions."

Sherlock paused and as she turned back towards the flat, he stopped her with a gentle hand to her shoulder. She glanced at him and he said lightly but firmly: "You haven't heard what I have to say."

She looked surprised but turned to give him her full attention. He paused as she looked at him expectantly. He was suddenly at a loss as to what to say. How to articulate something that he himself had rejected, refused to think about? She watched him as he began slowly, struggling a little.

"I… I'm sorry for being rude on Christmas. It was just, I never expected that you would hold feelings for me, outside of friendship. It was a miracle when you considered me a friend itself, but I never imagined that for you it would become something more. As you know, I'm not used to love, not even the idea of it, so-"

"Sherlock." She interrupted and he blinked from his ramblings. She sighed and then looked up but he noticed she was avoiding looking at his eyes. She seemed to find the bridge of his nose very interesting as she said: "I get it. Alright? I know you, and I know love is almost an impossible emotion for you." Sherlock almost nodded but something about the way she'd phrased the words made him pause.

She continued: "And I know you say you're married to your work, and it is true. Love is a distraction for you, keeps you from focusing you mind on the things that matter, the things that need to be seen clearly to solve the case. But I also know that at the end of the day, you're kind. But let me tell you this: you don't have to worry about me. I will deal with my emotions myself and you don't need to concern yourself over me."

Sherlock stared at her, shocked. _What?_ He was still shocked as she began to turn away and he pulled her back towards him. She looked into his eyes at last, completely startled. Deciding words were, for once, failing him Sherlock simply leaned down and kissed her.

Rose's mind blanked. She stood absolutely still, so many thoughts jumbling and mixing in her head. But at the very core was the realization: Sherlock was kissing her. He was kissing her. And what was most important was the emotion he had held in his eyes as he leaned in, the dilated pupils, the soft expression in his warm blue eyes.

And now, she could feel his heart hammering against her own racing one, and the soft caress of his lips as he pressed them to hers. He broke away quickly, while she stood rooted to the spot and stared at him. They locked eyes and each saw the truth at last. Rose let out a breath at last as she murmured: "Oh."

He grinned. "How about we keep this between us for now?" He suggested and she nodded at him dumbly. They walked in, each reeling a little on the inside, even though they both kept their faces impassive.

John looked up as they walked in, saying firmly: "She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." Both returned to the situation at hand as Mrs. Hudson said petulantly: "No." Sherlock replied as he refocused on Mrs. Hudson: "She's fine." Rose meanwhile sat beside the landlady, rubbing her arms soothingly.

"No, she's not." John retorted as he gestured. "Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders." He said firmly while Sherlock reached into the fridge. Seeing a mince pie, he grabbed it as he told John: "Don't be absurd." He munched on the pie as John said sharply: "She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it, anyway?"

Sherlock smirked and Rose gave a small smile as the former said smugly: "Safest place I know." Mrs. Hudson smiled as well and she reached into her shirt as she said: "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot." She handed Sherlock the phone while John looked on in disbelief. Mrs. Hudson continued weakly: "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Rose smiled kindly at the woman while Sherlock replied: "Thank you." Sherlock pocketed the phone as he turned to John. He chided: "Shame on you, John Watson." John looked at the man as he said incredulously: "Shame on me?" Sherlock scolded teasingly: "Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall."

He hugged the woman sideways and Mrs. Hudson chuckled at that. John just smiled resignedly and softly as he watched the pair, and Rose smiled softly from her seat across from him.

* * *

Sherlock disappeared for a while, taking the phone with him, presumably to a safe place. Rose stayed a little longer to comfort Mrs. Hudson but then she left as well, going back to Molly to spend one more night with her and explain she was returning home in the New Year. She bade the others all good night and Mrs. Hudson soon went to bed after that.

John waited for Sherlock to return, and when he did, John walked back out to their living room where Sherlock was removing his coat. John finally asked: "Where is it now?" Sherlock replied without looking at him: "Where no-one will look."

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures." John pointed out and Sherlock murmured as he grabbed his violin: "Yes, it is." John paused before he finally broached the topic. "So, she's alive then." Sherlock didn't reply so he asked, looking at Sherlock's back: "How are we feeling about that?"

There were many thoughts going through Sherlock's head. He was thinking about Rose, and then about Adler, and then about Adler and Rose. But he chose not to tell John anything. While Adler was loose, he had a puzzle to solve, and until he had all the pieces, he would rather play the game by the rules 'The Woman' was laying.

So he replied simply as the clock in the street chimed midnight: "Happy New Year, John." John asked: "Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" Sherlock ignored him, opting to play his violin as the clocks chimed, knowing Irene Adler would be receiving his text. 'Happy New Year.' He was going to play by her rules until he fully solved the puzzles the two women in his life seemed intent on throwing at him.


	15. Betrayal

Sherlock P.O.V.

Over the next six months, the camera phone and, unbeknownst to anyone, Rose became Sherlock's obsession. He worked on the camera phone, trying to solve the riddle Adler had left him with. And when no one was looking, he tried to solve the mystery that was Rosanne Jones. Since their kiss, she had kept a distance and he had kept his, because there was an unspoken challenge.

It had never occurred to him that he knew next to nothing about the woman he had called a friend for over a year now. And to claim to love someone when such was the case was unacceptable to the two genii.

Sherlock soon found all the facts that Mycroft's men had uncovered, but something was beginning to bother him. He even hacked into her phone on one occasion but the only thing wrong with it was that it was now missing the texts from her ex-boyfriend. It could be nothing… but he doubted it. Rose was clever, and she would know he would check her phone. If she had deleted the messages, it meant something. He just had to figure out what.

He began to watch her intently, and soon realized that the more he watched, the more she gave away to him. He knew she was aware of each time he watched her, now with new eyes, and he knew she didn't flatter herself.

The first time he'd tried and she'd caught him, instead of shutting him out her eyes had narrowed just slightly and she'd let go of the veil surrounding her for just a moment And so it went every time- he'd bide his time to spy on her actions covertly, and she'd reveal something if no one else was looking. And the more he found, the more he wondered: Who was Rosanne Jones?

Paired with the puzzle that was the camera phone, Sherlock's mind was fully captivated. And while it made him alert, he was also becoming increasingly frustrated.

One particular day, he was x-raying the phone at Bart's. Between the scans and the knowledge that Rose was at work down the corridor, Sherlock's brain was working at full capacity. At around lunch time, the door opened and he glanced up, almost hoping it was Rose, but he was disappointed as Molly Hooper walked in.

He turned back to the computer, reading the scans as the woman came up and looked at what he was working on. "Is that a phone?" She asked and Sherlock corrected without looking at her: "It's a camera phone." She looked confused and she asked after a pause: "And you're x-raying it?"

"Yes, I am." Sherlock replied as he watched the scans. Molly asked lightly: "Whose phone is it?" "A woman's." He replied flatly. He was so focused he didn't see Molly' face fall a little, but he was surprised regardless as she asked: "Your girlfriend?"

He asked in disbelief: "You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" Molly shrugged as she said laughingly: "Well, we all do silly things!" And something clicked in Sherlock's mind. He paused and he murmured: "Yes. They do, don't they?" He looked at Molly briefly. "Very silly."

He stood sharply, reaching for the camera phone inside the x-ray machine. He murmured as he turned the phone on: "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games." He typed in 221B into the passcode message that read: 'I am _ _ _ _ Locked' while Molly asked, hurt: "She does?"

But Sherlock didn't hear as the phone beeped: 'Wrong Passcode. 2 attempts remaining'. Irritated, he put the phone down and began to try something else while Molly looked hurt as she walked out quickly.

* * *

Sherlock returned to his flat but paused as he stepped into the landing. There was a faint smell that was foreign to their usual flat. He sniffed, and then walked into the kitchen slowly. He sniffed again, the smell a little stronger. He paused when he saw the kitchen window slightly open. He walked to it, touching it as he sniffed again.

He heard the front door open and close, presumably John returning from work, but he focused his mind again on the smell. He walked out, sniffing the faint smell of perfume deeply. It wasn't Rose's- he'd memorized her fresh, slightly floral smell a long time ago. This was far heavier, more seductive. He turned to the corridor, spying his bedroom door just slightly ajar.

He walked towards it, and the smell persisted with him as he followed the path into his room. He stepped in as John walked into the kitchen, not noticing anything wrong as usual. But Sherlock frowned as he stared down at his bed. He almost sighed internally as he kept his gaze fixed on his bed.

"Hey, Sherlock..." John called, coming towards him to ask about something or other so Sherlock interrupted him, saying as he turned to John: "We have a client." John asked in disbelief as he walked over and Sherlock turned back to look at his bed: "What, in your bedroom? Ohhh."

John made the noise of understanding as he stopped beside Sherlock, looking down at the woman sleeping in his bed.

* * *

Rose P.O.V.

Rose returned to what was most likely the strangest sight she would ever have the misfortune to see. Sherlock and John sat by the desk, both facing the woman sitting in Sherlock's dressing gown and with wet hair on Sherlock's armchair. She blinked as Irene Adler smiled at her.

Sherlock's head tilted just a little to her as he heard her enter while John nodded at her in greeting. Rose nodded back slowly, unsure of where to sit or what was happening. Eventually, she chose to sit in John's armchair. As Rose sat down, Sherlock began.

"So who's after you?" He asked the woman and Irene replied simply: "People who want to kill me." Sherlock kept his cool as he fired back: "Who's that?" She looked at him, smiling coyly as she replied: "Killers." John sighed as he muttered: "It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific."

Sherlock just continued: "So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them." Rose's brows lifted and John winced as he realized they'd never told her. Irene just replied: "It worked for a while." Sherlock pointed out: "Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me."

Irene said coquettishly: "I knew you'd keep my secret." Sherlock retorted: "You couldn't." Irene fired back: "But you did, didn't you?" There was a silence as the men were forced to acknowledge her words while Rose's lips pursed. Irene got to the point as she asked: "Where's my camera phone?"

John said calmly: "It's not here. We're not stupid." Irene demanded: "Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you." Sherlock replied flatly: "If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." John looked surprised while Rose's brow began to furrow.

"I need it." Irene told him and John chimed in: "Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" He paused and then said: "Molly Hooper." Rose and Sherlock turned to him with raised brows and John continued: "She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Sherlock beamed at John as he said: "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions." Rose sighed, knowing Sherlock was mocking him while John replied: "Thank you. So, why don't I phone..." He trailed off as Sherlock pulled the camera phone out of his pocket.

"Oh, for..." John grumbled while Irene's eyes lit and she stood up. Sherlock played with the phone a little as he asked: "So what do you keep on here. In general, I mean?" Irene folded her arms as she stood before Rose, facing Sherlock as she said: "Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"What, for blackmail?" John asked and she corrected: "For protection." She looked back at Sherlock and said as her eyes raked his form flirtatiously: "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock asked, undeterred and she replied coyly: "I told you, I misbehave." Sherlock remained impassive as he asked: "But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

Irene almost hissed: "Yes," she paused then continued: "but I don't understand it." Sherlock said flatly: "I assumed. Show me." She held out her hand and Sherlock just lifted the phone as he demanded: "The passcode." They locked eyes in a battle of wills. John watched a little unnerved while Rose's eyes narrowed.

Sherlock gave in and passed the woman the phone, and they all waited as Irene smirked while punching in her code. Sherlock watched almost expectantly. There was a buzz and she said lowly: "It's not working." Sherlock stood up as he said: "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made," he took the phone from the woman's loose grasp, "into which you've just entered the numbers 1058."

He leaned down to his sofa to pull out the real phone he'd hidden underneath the cushioning, saying: "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that," Rose's face became a cold mask as Irene winked at her, "but, um, thanks anyway." Irene folded her arms at him as he walked to stand before her. He smiled smugly as he punched the numbers into the phone.

Irene, however, looked calm and they found out why- the phone in Sherlock's hand buzzed, only one more attempt remaining. Irene purred: "I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand." Sherlock looked at the woman, looking slightly impressed as he murmured: "Oh, you're rather good."

He held out her phone and she took it without looking away from his eyes as she replied flirtingly: "You're not so bad." They kept their eyes locked, blue meeting blue. Rose's face was stony while John became a little uncomfortable. He finally said loudly, breaking the sexual tension forming before him: "Hamish."

They all looked at him, and he clarified: "John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names." He said as he turned away. Sherlock's face became a mix of confusion and disgust for a moment before Irene drew his attention as she explained: "There was a man," she walked away, passing below Sherlock's nose while he watched her, "an MOD official. I knew what he liked." She stood by the sofa as she unlocked her phone.

She continued: "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it," Sherlock moved after her, and Irene passed him the phone as she explained: "but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?"

Sherlock sat at the desk as he muttered: "Yes." He read the words: '007 Confirmed allocation. 4c12c45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K'. His mind began to race while Irene continued talking. "Code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside down, as I recall." John looked perturbed.

"Couldn't figure it out." Irene paused. Sherlock was focused on the picture, unaware that Irene was now looking directly at Rose. John however, saw it and he was surprised to see the cold anger on Rose's face. Irene kept her eyes locked on Rose's, knowing Sherlock wouldn't look over as she challenged Sherlock: "What can you do, Mr Holmes? Go on."

Irene leaned into Sherlock as she purred: "Impress a girl." And John shivered a little as he saw Rose's face become scarily blank as Irene leaned in and just lightly kissed his cheek. Sherlock's eyes darted to her as she did, almost as though he were surprised but he said flatly and quickly: "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds."

Irene leaned back, stunned and almost confused. Sherlock glanced up to see John looking the same way and he said dismissively: "Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look." He showed the picture to John. "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit."

He turned the phone back to himself, Irene looking over his shoulder. "The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs."

Rose's face had slowly morphed into a cool anger as she watched him. He was completely unaware to even her existence as he continued: "There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number, 007, that eliminates a few more."

Irene leaned back, impressed. "And assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent," he stood up as he face Adler, "the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

He looked down at her at last, to see her admiring gaze up at him. He said flatly: "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language." John hung his head, exasperated, while Rose's face had become blank once more.

Irene replied: "I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice." The two stared at each other intently and there was a long pause during which Rose folded her arms in disgust and John watched the pair, aghast.

Sherlock finally said calmly: "John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?" John mumbled as he shook himself out of his shock: "Uh, yeah. I'm on it, yeah." He began to search on his laptop. Sherlock hadn't turned from the woman and now he told her scathingly: "I've never begged for mercy in my life." She just replied softly: "Twice."

John interrupted as he stared at his laptop screen: "Uh, yeah, you're right. Uh, flight 007." Rose's eyes narrowed immediately. Sherlock paused, his eyes flitting and he turned to John as he asked: "What did you say?" John said, confused: "You're right."

Sherlock snapped: "No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" John repeated: "007. Flight 007." Sherlock began to mutter: "007, 007, 007, 007. Something." He began to pace as he muttered: "Something connected to 007. What?"

He paced frantically, searching his mind, and no one but Rose noticed Irene watching Sherlock intently, her hand behind her back. But Rose knew what she was doing, and more specifically who she was texting. Sherlock muttered furiously: "007, 007, what," Irene looked pleased and Rose turned her head in anger as Sherlock paced before her, "what, something, what?"

Sherlock stopped right before her as he turned to the doorway and Rose knew he'd remembered. She'd made the connection immediately. She could practically hear Mycroft in her head as he said into his phone: "Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot."

* * *

Sherlock sat in his armchair, plucking on his violin, still lost in thought as he'd been for the past few hours. "Coventry." He blurted out and Irene replied from where she'd been sitting in John's armchair: "I've never been. Is it nice?"

Sherlock started and he stared at her. The woman shouldn't be there, John sat there, and Rose had been sitting… Rose? Sherlock asked: "Where're Rose and John?" Irene smiled as she said: "She left ages ago and he went out a couple of hours ago, too." Sherlock said in confusion: "She was there, and I was just talking to him."

Irene almost purred: "He said you do that." Sherlock's eyes narrowed a little- she'd left Rose out. But she drew his attention again as she asked: "What's Coventry got to do with anything?" Sherlock paused to look at her and put his violin down.

He murmured: "It's a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."

"Have you ever had anyone?" Irene asked softly. Sherlock blinked. "Sorry?" He asked, not quite able to follow this woman's thought process. She continued: "And when I say 'had', I'm being indelicate."

"I don't understand." Sherlock said and she replied: "Well, I'll be delicate then." She got up and he frowned as she came to kneel before him, laying a hand on his as she purred: "Let's have dinner."

"Why?" He asked, his eyes narrowing a little and she suggested: "Might be hungry." He retorted: "I'm not." She smiled. "Good." She purred and Sherlock paused as an idea came into his head. He asked in a low voice: "Why would I," he turned his hand so he was holding hers just around the wrist, "want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?"

He leaned in a little and her eyes fluttered down to his lips as she purred: "Oh, Mr Holmes, if it was the end of the world," his finger moved a little up her wrist as though it had twitched, "if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson cried while Sherlock looked down at the woman before him intently. Irene looked almost disappointed as she pulled back, saying: "Too late." Sherlock said lowly: "That's not the end of the world; that's Mrs Hudson." She pulled away, her hand leaving his as she returned to her seat while Mrs. Hudson came in, saying: "Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?"

She turned to the man, who Sherlock recognized as one who'd come to fetch him to the palace last time. Mrs. Hudson told the man: "He shot it." Sherlock asked mockingly: "Have you come to take me away again?" The man said: "Yes, Mr Holmes."

"Well, I decline." Sherlock retorted and the man replied as he pulled an envelope from his jacket: "I don't think you do." He handed it to Sherlock who snatched it. Opening it, he pulled out a boarding ticket for the 6:30PM flight to Heathrow… which had his name printed on it.

* * *

Sherlock got into the car, and as they drove away, he smirked as he mocked: "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information they're going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new."

They pulled up at the airport, right next to a Jumbo, the 007 plane. Sherlock was still in a scornful mood as he got out of the car and saw the American agent standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the plane. Sherlock mocked as he walked up to the man: "Well, you're looking all better. How are you feeling?"

The agent replied: "Like putting a bullet in your brain, sir." Sherlock scoffed as he tucked the plane ticket into his jacket. He made it a little up the stairs when the agent added: "They'd pin a medal on me if I did ... sir." The agent tacked the end on, as though mocking Sherlock.

Sherlock paused but ignored it as he walked into the plane. He was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of corpses. He looked around the plane and at the chairs that were completely filled… with dead people. He moved down the row, looking at the figures, confused when suddenly Mycroft said from behind: "The Coventry conundrum."

Sherlock whirled around to find his older brother coming out of the cockpit. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead." Mycroft asked and Sherlock murmured his conclusion: "The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."

Mycroft said, scoffing a little: "Neat, don't you think? You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages," his tone became cold, "or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" Sherlock paused and each case passed through his mind- the little girls who couldn't see their granddad, the man who could tell apart human ash.

Mycroft continued: "We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight." Sherlock remembered the case he hadn't solved, with the man who'd been found in a car boot. "But that's the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word." Mycroft scoffed.

Sherlock wondered: "How's the plane going to fly?" He continued in one breath as he realized. "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new." Mycroft said coldly: "It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb."

He looked at Sherlock pointedly who twitched in understanding. "We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished." Mycroft said softly and Sherlock murmured: "Your MOD man." Mycroft hinted darkly: "That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

Sherlock hummed: "Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully." Mycroft spat angrily: "I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you!" Sherlock looked at him, startled and Mycroft snarled: "The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook."

Sherlock's eye twitched a little as Mycroft pointed out: "The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... and watch him dance." Sherlock scoffed, but with a hint of despair: "Don't be absurd." Mycroft repeated angrily: "Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her?" Sherlock frowned. "Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?" Mycroft scorned.

"I think it was less than five seconds." Irene spoke from behind. Sherlock turned to see the woman, fully dressed and looking like her polished self once more, being escorted in by the American agent. Mycroft said darkly: "I drove you into her path. I'm sorry. I didn't know." Irene walked in as she said softly: "Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk."

Sherlock snapped: "So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on." Irene interrupted harshly as she walked passed him: "Not you, Junior. You're done now." She walked up to Mycroft as she purred: "There's more ... loads more."

She lifted her phone as she told him: "On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft averted his eyes, caught and Sherlock frowned. But there was one more bomb Irene had left. "Come on out, _Rosie._ " She called and both Mycroft and Sherlock looked up and back to the door sharply as the American also escorted in the familiar blonde woman.

But even though it was clearly Rose, Sherlock barely recognized the woman before him. She was dressed in black jeans and a black dress shirt with black combat boots, her hair tied into a sleek bun. And the most drastic change was her face- the cold, blank mask that Sherlock had seen glimpses of in the past was now fixed permanently on Rose's face.

"What…?" Mycroft unwittingly gasped out, although he looked like he regretted it instantly. "She's my bodyguard. For protection, of course." Irene said with a smirk, and all the men looked at the slight woman in disbelief. She definitely looked more intimidating than usual, but a bodyguard?

The American snorted incredulously, and Rose suddenly snapped her leg up. There was a sharp crack, and the man cried out as his nose broke and he fell. Rose stood straight once more before calmly as she walked into the plane. Sherlock and Mycroft, though he tried to hide it, looking horrified at her.

The American stood up and made to swing at her in fury, she turned, lifting herself up using the seats to twist her legs around the man's neck, choking him slightly before kicking his head and knocking him out.

She landed elegantly and turned to face the room with cold eyes, her face not once changing from its emotionless state. Irene smiled as she turned back to Mycroft, enjoying the horror on his face as she said, satisfied: "Why don't we move somewhere comfortable to chat?"


	16. Revelation

They sat in the sitting room of Mycroft's mansion, Sherlock in an armchair by the fire. His mind was racing to try put the pieces of the puzzle together. Rose stood against a wall, exactly centered in the room, while Irene and Mycroft sat at the table on the other side of the room, each on one end as they faced each other coolly, the camera phone on the table before Mycroft.

After a long silence, Mycroft stated: "We have people who can get into this." He leaned forward, leaning his hand against his mouth as he watched Irene intently, ignoring the blonde woman as she ignored the whole room. Irene replied: "I tested that theory for you."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed just a little and Adler explained: "I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months." She called across the room to the man: "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone." Sherlock listed off: "There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

Irene informed them: "Explosive. It's more me." She told Mycroft, almost coyly and Mycroft said as he rubbed a hand on his temple: "Some data is always recoverable." He looked at her and she just replied coolly: "Take that risk."

Mycroft changed direction as he said stiffly: "You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you." She smiled as she turned to the man she called: "Sherlock?" Sherlock told Mycroft: "There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive."

Mycroft clenched his teeth as Sherlock informed him: "Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt." Irene purred: "He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might." She taunted, glancing at Rose but now the girl was showing no emotion.

Irene smirked: "And you forget, Mr. Holmes, I have a guard here with me." Mycroft glanced at the impassive blonde as Irene continued: "I can assure you, she is more than capable of taking on all your men and getting me out safe… with you both dead." Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

Mycroft sighed and he declared finally: "We destroy this, then. No-one has the information." Irene just shrugged as she said coolly: "Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn." She added and Mycroft retorted: "Are there?"

Irene's face became serious as she said: "Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing any more." She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope and passed it to Mycroft as she said: "A list of my requests," as he reached for it she twitched it as she added: "and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."

At that Mycroft and Sherlock glanced at Rose who met none of their gazes as she just stared coldly at the wall opposite her. _So, she's not looking after Adler forever… then why is she here?_ Sherlock wondered. Mycroft opened the envelope as Irene mused: "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying." Mycroft read the document and his brows rose in shock.

"I imagine you'd like to sleep on it." Irene murmured and Mycroft replied quietly: "Thank you, yes." Irene said triumphantly: "Too bad." Mycroft lifted his head to look at her in disbelief and Sherlock scoffed from his seat. Irene said mockingly: "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft leaned back in his seat as he sighed in defeat. He said slowly: "You've been very ... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you." He looked back down at the paper and Irene said humbly: "I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." She turned to Sherlock, saying as though she'd just remembered: "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock's head jerked up, but Irene turned back to Mycroft as the man said testily: "Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention," he glanced at Rose who'd turned her head to look at him, "which I'm sure can be arranged." Mycroft pulled out a pen as he began to sign Irene's document.

Irene stood as she mused: "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal." She sat on the table, crossing her legs suggestively while Sherlock stood and turned to face them at last. Irene and Mycroft looked over but Sherlock was looking at Rose. The blonde turned to look at him impassively.

"So, you were working for Moriarty this entire time. He was your 'ex-boyfriend'." He said, calmly. Rose just looked at him, and that was all the confirmation he needed. "I couldn't work it out. It didn't make sense that you were working with Adler… but if it's him that's different."

He approached her and stood before her calmly, Mycroft tensing as Sherlock got too close to the blonde. Rose just looked up at him, emotionless, while Irene called: "Oh, Sherlock. Is it such a surprise? The one woman who was clever enough to keep up with you; it never occurred to you that she was smart enough to fool you?"

He ignored her as he asked: "You joined me right before the Tong incident. Did you know about it? Was Moriarty behind Shan's entry into Britain?" Rose finally spoke, and her voice was cold as ice as she said: "My orders were to infiltrate Sherlock Holmes' flat and then his life, without giving anything about myself away. I was not given information about any of Moriarty's work, unless it became relevant."

"So, did you know or not?" He asked testily and she replied coldly: "Are you questioning my intelligence?" When he just levelled a look at her, she finally told him: "I didn't know- Moriarty only informed me when he sent me to execute Shan." Sherlock's face darkened at that but she remained unmoved as she watched him process this information, quickly deducting what he needed.

"And during his game with the bombs?" He prompted. "Sherlock…" Mycroft started but Irene purred: "No, why not? Go on, _Rose_ , tell him. After all, that's what _friends_ do, isn't it?" Sherlock's eyes suddenly narrowed as he examined the blonde before him. Something about her eyes had shifted, just a little, at that comment, and Sherlock's mind raced as he compared it against all the data he had discovered recently.

Rose meanwhile said in a business-like manner: "I knew that he was behind the bombing, but not much into what his puzzles were for you. My job was to keep an eye on how Sherlock Holmes was doing… and steal the missile plans while he watched the great consulting detective _danced_."

His eyes narrowed and Rose almost taunted, except for the continually cold edge in her voice: "You never even checked the hiding place of that flash drive, you were so self-assured. I had already been to Joe Harrison's flat and made copies of the drive while you ran around having your fun."

Sherlock examined her as she blandly told him the facts. He continued slowly: "So, how they got into your flat-" "I gave Jim a copy of my key when I first moved in." She replied, and Sherlock's fist curled. "And you've been sending updates on me to him?" He asked and Rose answered: "Only barely. But it's how he knew to target John... and myself."

Sherlock's eyes were icy as he said flatly: "Except you went willingly." "I did tell you." She reminded him, her voice just as cold. "The clues were all there, and Jim even dropped a clue about me: 'The clue's in the name. Janus Cars'."

Sherlock's face went cold as Rose said icily: "You naturally thought he was talking about the case, but did you never once stop to ask why he called you when you were alone? And why he gave you a clue, when he never did before or after?"

He ignored the scathing jab as he asked slowly: "And now Miss Adler is your newest assignment?" She nodded once as she replied: "A protection detail until her little game ended. Jim was ecstatic when he realized this would be the perfect opportunity to show you he could make you dance."

Sherlock paused and he examined her. His next question was abrupt and Mycroft's brow lifted in surprise. "So you've lied to me this whole time?" Sherlock said it softly and she nodded but averted her eyes. Sherlock began to work that last piece into the puzzle that was Rosanne Jones and then the picture became clear. Now he just had to figure out the Adler mess, and then he could question the blonde woman directly.

Irene piped up: "Mm, she's still lying to you now, aren't you, _Rose_." When Sherlock glanced at Adler and Mycroft's brows lifted questioningly she elaborated: "Why don't you tell them your real name?"

Sherlock remained neutral, now confident in what he knew, while Rose's eye twitched just a little. She turned and levelled a look at Adler, saying coldly: "I am not bound to _you_ , Miss Adler. You'd do well to remember that."

Adler suddenly looked sheepish at the other woman's malice, which both Mycroft and Sherlock picked up on with surprise. Irene quickly changed subjects again as she piped up: "Well, Sherlock, dear. Looks like your weakness really is women. You don't know as much about them as you like to think. But then, Jim knew that."

She smirked at Mycroft, but Sherlock's gaze was locked on Rose whose eyes shifted away and his narrowed once more, the final penny dropping. Irene continued to Mycroft, oblivious: "He gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you?"

When Mycroft just looked at her she purred triumphantly: "The Ice Man ... and the Virgin." She turned to Sherlock, and became a little bit put out that the man was still staring at Rose thoughtfully.

Irene continued, trying to make Sherlock react: "Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man." Sherlock figured it all out at last as he stood before the blonde who was truly not all she seemed.

Mycroft commented: "And here you are," Mycroft stood up, "the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees." He gave a little mock-bow as Irene smiled at him. "Nicely played." Mycroft said sarcastically but Sherlock interrupted: "No."

The two at the desk turned in surprise as Sherlock finally turned to face Irene, Rose just watching on emotionlessly. "Sorry?" Irene asked, confused and Sherlock said with a small smile of triumph: "I said no. Very very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

Sherlock began to walk towards her as Irene replied lightly: "No such thing as too much." Sherlock acknowledged: "Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but sentiment?"

Mycroft frowned a little, and then glanced at the blonde woman who was leaning back on the wall casually. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." Sherlock spat.

Irene scoffed: "Sentiment? What are you talking about?" Sherlock lifted one brow as he said bluntly: "You." Irene grinned as she said pityingly: "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you?" He just looked at her pointedly and she demanded: "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

Sherlock smirked as he replied: "No." He leaned in and whispered in her ear as he took her wrist: "Because I took your pulse." Rose saw Irene's face fall a little, fear entering the older woman's eyes as she remembered when she'd been flirting with him just mere hours ago, by his armchair.

Sherlock listed: "Elevated; your pupils dilated." His voice was cold as he pulled away from her, picking up the camera phone as he said while walking towards the centre of the room: "I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive."

He turned to her as she followed, looking a little desperate but he just said coldly: "When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe, your measurements; but this, this is far more intimate." He switched the phone on as he said: "This is your heart, and you should _never_ let it rule your head." He punched in the first code.

Sherlock stared the woman down as he turned the tables on her. "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for." He punched in the second code.

"But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage..." He punched in the third code. "Thank you for the final proof." His finger lifted and Irene clasped his hand with both of hers.

She said in a last ditch effort: "Everything I said, it's not real." She swallowed and whispered: "I was just playing the game."

"I know." Sherlock whispered. He punched in the final code. "And this is just losing." He told her coldly. Her eyes filled with tears as he lifted the phone for her to see. He'd punched in the four letters, causing the passcode to read: 'I Am S H E R Locked'.

He lifted the phone towards Mycroft, who saw the message as well, as the tears streamed down Irene's face. Sherlock turned away from her as he said calmly, handing the phone to Mycroft: "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain they will." Mycroft said calmly and Sherlock told him as he turned away from them both: "If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection." He walked over to Rose who had watched the whole thing without a flicker of emotion on her face.

Irene turned to the pair and she said to Rose: "Stop them. Stop them now." But Rose just looked at her impassively as she said in an emotionless voice: "I'm sorry, Miss Adler, but it seems you are being cut loose. I'm sure Jim would ask you to understand that he doesn't need useless pieces."

Irene's eyes filled with hate as she looked at the blonde. "You… I know what you are. You won't get away, I'll tell the British government everything and you won't be able to run from it this time." Sherlock offered his arm to Rose and Irene gasped, a guttural sound of betrayal. "I doubt it. You're good… but she was better." Sherlock told Irene coldly. "She figured out the hiker immediately."

"She doesn't care about you, you know." Irene said to Sherlock quietly. When he was unresponsive Irene cried: "I thought, when she acted jealously, but that's all she is- just an act. It's what she's trained for and what she's good at. It's why Jim Moriarty likes her!" She watched despairingly as Rose took the offered arm.

Sherlock replied to Adler: "I'm well aware of that. But I think Moriarty has a message for me." He looked down at Rose pointedly and Irene's face fell. Mycroft's brows lifted as Sherlock led Rose out the door. Irene stopped them as she called in a desperate voice that cracked a little: "Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied as he stopped, not looking at the woman. Rose turned to look at her as Irene paused. She swallowed hard before she said in a low voice: "Please." Sherlock turned to look at her as Irene said quietly: "You're right. I won't even last six months."

Sherlock looked at her impassively before he replied: "Sorry about dinner." He then turned, taking Rose with him as he walked out, leaving the distraught woman behind him.

* * *

They sat in Mycroft's dining room, Rose sitting in the middle of the two Holmes brothers. Mycroft's face was carefully emotionless while Sherlock was once again thoughtful. "So, you managed to fool both Sherlock and myself. It is, I must say, a first." Mycroft began and Rose shrugged.

She replied, flatly: "All assassins are trained in disguise. My own superior intellect paired with that proper training meant you two were at a distinct disadvantage." Mycroft raised a brow as he said: "But my brother saw it. He just chose not to mention it."

Sherlock interrupted, correcting: "I was intrigued, puzzled, but then she started letting me see it. It was how I knew I could trust her tonight." Mycroft asked testily: "'Trust'? I don't think that is the word I would use. She might be lying to you again, brother mine."

"I never have." "She never has." Rose and Sherlock retorted at the same time. Sherlock paused as he glanced at the blonde. She did the same, a little surprised, but she continued anyway to Mycroft: "I've been lying to you both the whole time about my name, but you two looked up who I was. You read the mostly fake story Jim created and you never questioned me about it. I simply never corrected you."

Sherlock nodded while Mycroft frowned, but she just continued: "I've also never actually lied about my knowledge in the cases Jim was involved in. That's the secret to being able to convince others- you hide one lie, in my case my name, and let others think what they want. You then exude that persona, and they don't question it because it's what they want to see."

"Being a genius helps. I can quickly pick up hints and put things together, and it was especially helpful in the game Jim played because he didn't tell me things. I had to figure it out, and that made it more believable for you." She nodded at Sherlock. Mycroft finally asked: "So, what did you reveal to him that makes my brother still adamantly on your side."

She grimaced at last while Sherlock straightened. "It became too real." She whispered and Mycroft's eyebrows lifted. Sherlock explained: "I knew. As you know, despite what people think, I am not ignorant of what love looks like. She was good, but I would know if it wasn't real, so she would never try to sell that angle… unless it was the truth."

Mycroft looked at the blonde who murmured: "I made a mistake. It's never happened to me before. Love… that was drilled out of me from a young age. So it never occurred to anyone that I might…" She trailed off with a sigh and Mycroft said tightly: "That you'd fall in love with my brother."

Sherlock's fist curled and Rose nodded tightly. There was a tense silence as Rose avoided looking at Sherlock whose eyes were trained on her. Mycroft watched them without a word. "How else did you know?" Mycroft asked at last and Sherlock immediately replied: "Because she lied tonight."

Mycroft lifted a brow while Rose cracked a smile. "Oh?" The elder Holmes said and Sherlock nodded, explaining: "She received a text after the Vermeer painting case. I knew because she went into the bathroom downhearted and came out emotionless."

"A mask." Mycroft murmured and Sherlock added: "Not a mistake a highly trained killer would make… unless she wanted me to see it." He looked at her pointedly and she nodded once. Sherlock continued: "I didn't understand it at first, but when I began to try to actually look, after Adler's supposed death, I realized there was something there the entire time."

"But why let me in then? Because sometime between the Connie Prince case and the Vermeer case, she changed. When? When she didn't inform Moriarty that I'd cracked the Connie Prince case early. I assume he sent her a warning text, but she failed to mention it today. Why? Because it would raise questions she didn't want Adler to ask."

Mycroft nodded thoughtfully. "And you're saying that was the downfall of the best assassin Moriarty had?" He said, and Rose could hear the disbelief. "Who said it was my downfall?" She asked and Mycroft pointed out: "Moriarty will realize soon, if he doesn't already. Why else would he choose to reveal you before he'd played his final hand?"

Both Rose and Sherlock nodded. Rose said: "Yes. And that is why you need to send me away." Mycroft's brow quirked while Sherlock's fist clenched even tighter. "I see." Mycroft murmured. Rose told him: "I am willing to offer my help, but I cannot stay. Moriarty will soon paint a target on me now that I've openly defied him."

Mycroft nodded slowly as Rose continued: "I could tell you everything I know about him but I caution you: we have no real way of knowing if what I say is true. Everything I can say about Moriarty could be lies, given the man never tells the whole truth himself. I'd rather we watch his play, and make our judgements then."

"So, you want to help me keep watch on Moriarty, but removed from Sherlock's side." Mycroft concluded and Rose nodded. "No." Sherlock suddenly said, and the pair turned to him in surprise. "What?" Rose asked, flabbergasted while Mycroft's brows lifted as he read his brother's face.

"I said, 'No'." Sherlock repeated.


	17. Truth

"And I said, what do you mean by 'no'?" Rose demanded. Sherlock replied firmly: "It means just that. No, you are not being sent away, whether it be by my brother or by you yourself."

Mycroft sat back, opting to watch the two as his mind raced through this new alternative Sherlock was proposing. Rose meanwhile was furious as she snapped: "That isn't really for you to decide."

Sherlock countered: "Yes, it is. I can decide who to trust and since you technically have a debt to me for doubting me, I have the final say in the matter. And I'm saying 'No'." He dared her to argue, and Rose did, snapping hotly: "I have no such debt. It's not my fault you fell into Irene's trap in the first place. And if we're going to be petty, then I'll point out that you wouldn't have been able to redeem yourself without me."

Mycroft's brows lifted in amusement but Sherlock retorted sharply: "And I would never have fallen for that woman's ploy so easily if you hadn't been running around my mind palace and causing a disturbance with your own puzzle for me."

The two stared at each other in a stand off, both with their backs straightened as they glared in as silent battle of wills. Rose's gaze was darker as she stared up at the man, Sherlock's height giving him a more advantageous viewpoint. Mycroft allowed them to duel it out for another minute before he finally cut in.

"Alright, that's enough, children." Both of them turned to him, Sherlock sulkily while Rose was affronted but Mycroft just said sternly: "We have bigger things to worry about. Miss Jones," her eye twitched just the slightest but both Holmes brothers ignored that as Mycroft continued, "I will take you on your offer to hire you into my own personal secret service."

Sherlock's eye twitched this time while Rose's brow furrowed. She waited, and Mycroft seemed amused- almost delighted- at her intellect. He continued: "And your first job will be an information and security detail: finding a way to bring Moriarty down while guarding my brother."

Rose's mouth fell open and her eyes flashed in anger. Sherlock was looking smugly triumphant and Mycroft was suppressing a smile at the woman's reaction as he said blandly: "I would suggest that you work with Sherlock on the Moriarty case, but that is completely up to you."

"You-" Rose snarled, but Mycroft interrupted: "I think it's a fair offer, and since I cannot fully trust you, it's best I have an eye on you at all times. Since I'm too busy for that, I will entrust that duty to Sherlock." Sherlock tried to look offended, but he was looking far too smug to succeed.

Rose's face had darkened in anger as she spat: "You need to polish up your lying skills, Mycroft. Since when do you let anyone you don't trust near Sherlock, let alone guard him?" "Since I just needed to make some unbelievable excuse to further anger a half-French assassin for my and my brother's amusement." Mycroft replied.

Rose paused, her brow raising just a little bit. She sat back and looked between the Holmes brothers with her lips pursed as she fell into thought. Mycroft stood up, and Rose glanced at him as the man said lightly: "Well, it's been a very long night and I have business and Miss Adler to take care of." Both Sherlock and Rose twitched minutely at the mention of the woman but Mycroft ignored that.

He continued: "I will let you give me your response through Sherlock, Miss Jones. If you accept, you may leave and return to 221 Baker Street. If you choose to reject my offer, I will expect you to take care of loose ends and my cleaning staff will be informed to dispose of your body quietly."

On that cheery note, the older Holmes left the room while the younger brother grimaced in distaste. Rose watched Sherlock thoughtfully, but turned her head away when Sherlock turned his gaze back to the blonde woman. They sat in silence, Sherlock watching Rose as she stared at the table with pursed lips.

"Why do you want me to stay?" She asked eventually and Sherlock replied quietly: "I'd rather not have the only woman I've ever loved leave because of a guilty conscious." She glanced at him, before fixing her gaze back on the table. "Can you honestly say you love me after what happened tonight?" She asked and he replied simply: "I never say things I don't mean." Her lips curved into a small smile at that as she said softly: "Liar."

He chuckled lightly, conceding, and they lapsed into silence once more. Rose finally lifted her head and looked Sherlock fully in the face as she asked: "Can you honestly say you love me when you don't know who I am or what I've done in my past?"

Sherlock replied without a moment's hesitation: "I know enough to guess what your past looks like and I can honestly say I don't care about it." "You're not answering my question." She pointed out and he shrugged. He replied: "I could say the same to you, you know." His gaze sharpened, pinning her with his icy blue eyes as he questioned in turn: "Can you, or rather will you, ever give me a reply?"

She looked at him speculatively, and he waited patiently as her green eyes bore into his own. She said slowly: "Can I ever say that I fell in love with a high functional sociopath who solves crime as an alternative to getting high?" He nodded simply and a sad smile appeared on the woman's face as she whispered: "Yes. I can say… that I fell in love with you, Sherlock Holmes."

He leaned forward as her gaze lowered, and he took her chin between his fingers, gently lifting her head back up. He gazed into her eyes as he answered her earlier question seriously: "I fell in love with you before I fully became aware of who you were. But you've let me in, little by little, and I've finally pieced it all together."

Her gaze shifted away but he held a hand to her cheek, turning her face so she was looking back at him. "And I still love you." He told her. He watched her breathing stop for just one moment, before she let out a shuddering breath. Her eyes filled and she was suddenly blinking back tears.

"You don't even know my real name." She whispered and Sherlock replied quietly: "But I know your heart. And despite what you think, it is a good one." She closed her eyes at that, a tear slipping through and falling down her cheek. Sherlock swiped it away with his thumb as she whispered: "I can't believe that."

"Then I'll be forced to deduct some of your IQ from my guess." Sherlock replied and she gave a watery chuckle that faded quickly. "You don't really want me, Sherlock" She said abruptly, opening her eyes and staring at him as she tried to convince him. "I'm a lot worse than you'd probably think."

"Not everything you've shown to John and I was false." He pointed out in return. "Most of it was, as you say, true. And if I could live with that..." He trailed off meaningfully, raising a brow as he waited for her to make her choice, seeing the battle in her eyes. Her eyes bore into his, searching the blue depths. Sherlock hid nothing, for once completely lifting the cold calculating demeanor.

As they continued to gaze at each other, her eyes changed. They softened, and the pain that Sherlock had only glimpsed before suddenly dominated every feature on her face as she bit her lip. Sherlock leaned in slowly, giving her time to back away if she wished.

She didn't. Her eyes closed as his face came closer, another single tear slipping down and Sherlock gently brushed it away as he ran his hand down her cheek, her neck, her shoulders and then slipping it around her waist, pulling her gently closer to him. When there was just a hair's breath between their lips, Sherlock asked softly, his lips just brushing against hers: "Who are you?" Her lips curved into a smile and she breathed: "Victoire Marie Spencer."

 _How fitting._ Sherlock thought briefly before he closed the small space between them. Her lips were soft as they fitted against his. They kissed softly before Sherlock drew back just a little. She opened her eyes and they stared at each other before Sherlock leaned back in.

"I love you." He whispered before he crashed his lips onto hers. She responded, kissing him back urgently. This kiss was different from the two they'd shared before- it was harsh and it was passionate. She pressed up into him, her hands curling in his dark hair and Sherlock let his hands wander down her back.

He slowly backed up as his hands slipped further down, pulling her with him as he stood up a little, his hands curling behind her thighs. He turned her abruptly to set her on the table, their lips never once breaking contact as he leaned down more comfortably and deepened the kiss.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. He groaned a little, but responded just as enthusiastically as one hand gripped her waist, the other drifting up and gripping her head, holding her steady. They broke apart eventually, both gasping a little for air. It was quiet except for their heavy breathing, and Sherlock rested his forehead on hers, keeping his eyes closed as he savored the moment with her.

He eventually opened his eyes, watching her as she kept her eyes closed, breathing slowing down as she pressed her forehead against his. As though sensing his gaze, she opened her eyes too and blue eyes locked with green. They stared at each other for another long moment, before Sherlock finally spoke. "Let's go home."

She nodded slowly, anxiety beginning to knot in her stomach. Sherlock drew back slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he straightened up and fixed his suit. He saw her nervousness but didn't comment on it as she fixed her hair and he reached back to his chair and grabbed his coat.

He offered a hand to her and she took it hesitantly, hopping off the table. She stood still for a moment, but then seemed to make a resolution as she straightened her back and began to walk determinedly out the room. Sherlock walked beside her, still holding her hand. But as they turned into the front foyer, he let go. She glanced at him, and then became startled as he threw his coat over her shoulders. She gave him a pointed look as she said: "I don't really need it."

He shrugged as he replied casually: "Even master assassins can catch colds." "So can the world's only consulting detective." She retorted but he just shrugged as he took her hand in his gently. She glanced at it and wrinkled her nose a little at that and Sherlock grinned at her embarrassment. But they quickly became more professional as Mycroft's driver climbed out of the waiting car right outside the front doors. The driver politely opened the door for them, and Sherlock let her climb in first before he followed behind.

They drove back to 221 in comfortable silence, just holding hands loosely as they each sat staring out their respective windows. As they pulled up outside the apartment, she tensed just a little. Sherlock just squeezed her hand once before climbing out of the car, gently tugging her out after him.

Mycroft's driver drove away smoothly, and Sherlock led the way back inside. At the bottom of the steps leading up to 221B, Sherlock suddenly stopped. He turned to her as she looked up at him questioningly and he asked: "Will you still go by 'Rose'?"

She paused before slowly shaking her head. "Not with you and John." She said firmly and he nodded before they walked up the steps together. As soon as they did, they saw John appear at the top of the stairs, looking down at them worriedly.

"Are you two alright?" He asked and then, as they stepped up onto the landing and into the light of the boys' living room the good doctor muttered: "What the hell?" He quickly shut his mouth as the blonde woman winced but he'd been so surprised by her outfit that it had slipped out.

Sherlock removed his scarf and took his jacket gently from the blonde, gesturing to his armchair as he hung up the coat. She sat down while Sherlock opted to sit on the chair beside the desk as John slowly sank into his seat across from them both. The man glanced between the pair, taking in her uncomfortable expression and his expectant face.

"Right," John said slowly, "so, do you mind telling me what's going on?" Sherlock nodded at her as he replied: "Marie will explain." She wrinkled her nose- _of course he would figure out the name I preferred,_ she thought wryly- while John repeated in confusion: "'Marie'?"

Marie nodded, and she drew herself up fully as she explained: "John, there's quite a lot I have to tell you, and quite honestly I'm afraid you'll be very angry with me." John glanced at Sherlock warily before turning back to the blonde as he said slowly: "Okay, go on."

Marie took a deep breath. "My name is Victoire Marie Spencer." She began and John blinked but just nodded, listening quietly. "My mother was French and my father English." Sherlock nodded- he had figured it out, and he guessed Mycroft had also picked up on it, from the way she pronounced certain words when her guard was down, almost rolling the syllables.

Marie paused before she began to explain: "It all started when I was twelve. Until then, I'd say I led a pretty normal life. I was cleverer than most others my age but it never really affected me negatively. I had parents who loved me, lived a comfortable life and went to a relatively prestigious school.

But then, one day, there was an accident. In the blink of an eye, I was suddenly alone in the world. My parent's assets were all taken by my uncle, who wanted nothing to do with me and threw me in an orphanage while he went off the America. I later found out that he gambled all the money away before dying in a drunken fight a few years later." John and Sherlock's faces darkened in disgust but she just continued monotonously.

"I never fit in. To be honest, I became bitter to the world that seemed to hate me. I had had all I needed, but in one sweep it was all gone. I turned to hacking," she grinned a little wryly at the look of surprise on John's face while Sherlock looked faintly amused, before they became serious once more. "It wasn't too serious- I didn't want to wind up in jail- but it was enough to get me in trouble more than once."

"The orphanages didn't know what to do with me and the other kids despised me for my superior intellect. At the time, I was young and didn't know how to be sociable- much more like Sherlock," John wrinkled his nose as he hummed in agreement while Sherlock scoffed a little. Marie continued:

"And so I never tried to mend the gaps between myself and the others, or try to impress potential adoptive parents. As I grew older, I began to drift from orphanage to orphanage as each place filled and it became harder for me to be adopted. That's when he came."

Her face darkened and John glanced between her and Sherlock, confused. She went on: "James Moriarty." John started a little but Marie just continued without pause: "He found me one day when I was fifteen, and took me from the last orphanage I was in. He paid a small sum to keep the whole transfer quiet, and the orphanage was so glad to just get rid of another mouth to feed that they didn't question his motives."

"The next year was the worst of my life." Marie said flatly. John's face became concerned and Sherlock's fist curled into a tight fist but she just continued, her eyes unfocusing as she reminisced: "I was placed into a grueling training program that not only tortured my body but my mind. In those first few months, I honestly wished I was dead."

John blinked but Marie didn't notice as she continued bitterly: "I was trained physically to become stronger and to withstand any and all duress. Bullets, cuts, torture, you name it. And for every time I broke or cried, there would only be harsher treatments until I learnt not to show any emotion." John's face had whitened but Marie was still too absorbed in her memories. Sherlock watched the woman, noting how she maintained a calm voice, not once faltering- proof of her words, of how successful Moriarty's training had been.

"Of course, there were also lessons in fighting, combined with lessons on knowledge of everything an assassin would need- camouflage, different weapons, how to both put together and break apart weapons, espionage, everything. And always more punishment for failure."

"Punishment how? Beatings?" John interrupted, feeling torn between wanting to know and not wanting to know about just how far this woman's pain went. Sherlock's heart clenched when Marie's eyes focused on John and she answered without a beat's hesitation or change in her voice: "Mental torture."

John winced but she just continued as her eyes unfocused again: "Those were always the most difficult to endure. Brain-washing attempts that I had to break out of, ploys that played on your deepest fears and toughest memories. Or the worst- sitting back and watching others suffer for your failures. Always, always children. And you just had to sit and endure their screams- because it was always worse if you couldn't."

She broke off suddenly, focusing suddenly on John. "Sorry, I should've kept the gory stuff out." She murmured as she took in the man's white face and saw Sherlock's fist clenched so tightly on his knee that his knuckles were white. "No, it's fine, I asked. I wanted to know." John muttered and Marie paused before she continued:

"And then as though to imbue normalism into their cruel training, there would be lessons in things all regular people learnt- English, Math, languages, history. Attempts at normalicy that instead drove you crazier because it brought back memories of the simple life you'd had before, the longing for those days that were then beaten out of you in the next session.

The days blurred as I became unaware how much time passed between training and lessons. It was especially hard to keep track of the time I'd lost in the beginning when I hours most of my time unconscious." She paused, and the boys could see she was editing a little in her head. She continued: "I finally figured out my days when Jim came in one day with papers to file for emancipation.

It had to be filed on my birthday to keep up appearances. It would be useful in case anyone ever decided to check my background in the future. I still remember when he walked out," her eyes flashed dangerously, "and he wished me a happy birthday over his shoulder."

Both men grimaced in distaste. Marie paused for a moment before continuing her story, her demeanor back to business-like as she said: "Six months later, I was deemed ready to begin real work. I was registered to take nine A-levels, and passed them all with hundreds."

John absolutely started at that fact but she just said simply: "It was what Jim had ordered. After all, we were beginning to create my background story. I asked for my stunning results to be kept in the dark, creating the believable character of a shy genius, who didn't want to live in the spotlight.

Of course, at the same time it was exactly the anonymity a future spy would need. Jim didn't want my face plastered on newspapers because who wants a famous spy?" Marie spat the words vehemently, finally able to let loose all the rage that had been kept inside for years.

"I was accepted into Cambridge, where I kept a low profile as I completed my Chemistry degree- or at least, that's the official story. In fact, I was finalizing my spy training and beginning to take small missions. After three years, I graduated and took a job in a hospital in Switzerland. It was the perfect place to create a false alibi; remote enough that it would be difficult to find concrete data but close enough that anyone looking would find all that they would need to believe my story.

It was there that I began to lead my double life. With Moriarty's influence, creating false identities to travel around the world was child's play. I began taking larger and larger missions, working closely with Jim. I won't tell you everything now- it would take too long and quite frankly I don't want to tell you myself and see your shocked faces- but to give you an idea, I was a chief instigator in the Afghan war."

John stared at her and Marie looked at him straight in the face, determined to face all blame. Sherlock's brows had raised- of course, he had an idea about just how shady Marie's past was, but to hear an actual confirmation (and an incredibly dark one at that) was still somewhat of a surprise. Marie said firmly: "I returned to England last year where I was placed on surveillance.

My orders were to watch Sherlock Holmes and report on how he operated. Jim was interested because he wanted to see if it was worth riling up Mycroft's feathers by toying with Mycroft's younger brother." John pulled a face and Marie's face softened a little as she glanced at Sherlock apologetically, but he just waved it off so she continued.

"When I described Sherlock's job to Jim, I was ordered to orchestrate the incident with the cabbie," John and Sherlock started but she continued as though she hadn't noticed, looking distinctly uncomfortable: "and to see if it was worth Jim's time. That's when you also came into the picture." She looked at John apologetically, but he just continued to listen intently.

"When I told Jim about the whole incident, he was interested to hear that Sherlock Holmes could find someone he could actually befriend. That's when Jim ordered me to infiltrate Sherlock Holmes' life and to gain his trust. That's how I ended up here, and, well, it's how I'm sitting here now." She stopped, and they sat in silence as John digested this information.

"So," he began slowly and Marie tensed, "you've been lying and spying on us since the beginning?" She nodded as she confirmed: "From before you even met me." John added slowly: "And you've known about Moriarty the entire time with the bombing and with Adler?" She nodded again as she confirmed: "Yes."

John stayed silent before he asked abruptly: "How come you're still here then?" Marie glanced at Sherlock before she turned back to John as she answered seriously: "Because I made a choice. I chose Sherlock, and you, over Jim. I chose that it was worth the risk of Jim spreading the truth about me everywhere- which, incidentally, would have me locked up in every country in the world without question if not dead- if it means someday, he would be brought down once and for all."

She paused and she lowered her gaze as she added quietly: "But John, I want you to know- if you don't want me here, I will leave. Sherlock's made his side quite clear but I think, as a fellow resident and friend, you should also get a choice." She tensed a little as she finished, and sat expectantly awaiting his judgment.

John looked at Sherlock and he asked: "And you trust her?" Sherlock nodded as he replied simply: "With my life." John nodded and said with a slight sigh: "Right. Well, then, I guess that's that." He made to get up but Marie asked in surprise: "That's it? Aren't you going to say anything? Yell at me, accuse me of being a fraud, or something?"

John sat back down as he said very seriously: "Rose, or I guess Marie," she blinked and John's face softened as he said sincerely: "I trust the woman I met. I think of her as a good friend and someone who'll have my back in a tight spot. If Sherlock still trusts you, then I know it's because you're still the you I know. Besides, I wasn't completely unaware there was something more to you. You just have a much darker history than I would've guessed. But I'm okay with that, and so there isn't anything else to say."

She stared at him dumbly for a minute before she said flatly: "You two are both idiots, do you know that?" They laughed at her, and John watched with a faint smile as Sherlock took the woman's hand, rubbing it gently as she suddenly fought back tears. John hinted as he made to stand again: "Well, if that's all then I'll be going to bed then."

Marie smiled and nodded but they both turned in surprise as Sherlock suddenly asked: "What were your A-levels in anyways?" John snorted while Marie looked at him, a little amused as she listed: "Art and Design, Biology, Chemistry, Computing, English Literature, Government and Politics, Mathematics, Physics and Psychology."

"Hm, so I was right when I said you enjoyed art." Sherlock mused and she snorted. "Well, like I said, the best way to hide a lie is to conceal it with as much truth as one can." She jibed and he nodded but asked: "Why Psychology?"

Again, she looked amused as she replied lightly: "What better way to learn to manipulate people with lies than to learn how the human brain thinks?" John had to laugh at the casual way they were now beginning to reference Marie's past. Sherlock merely nodded again- he could relate to that- but he said thoughtfully: "So, you were already working in espionage at sixteen. I'm guessing you didn't take any languages to hide the fact that you were already fluent in several?"

She nodded again, saying: "Psychology was deemed safe enough to learn officially, but they didn't want to draw any more attention to me. In fact, I was only cleared to even take nine A-levels to maintain the impressive image of a genius who'd rather hide than take the spotlight."

Sherlock asked curiously: "Do you mind sharing which languages you are fluent in?" She smiled again, and John waited by the door curiously as she replied: "French, Spanish, German, Arabic, Chinese, bit of Korean, Japanese, Russian and Pashtu."

"Pashtu?" John repeated and she shrugged as she pointed out: "How else do you think I managed to make my way around Afghanistan?" Sherlock interjected: "No Italian?" Marie shrugged again as she answered: "I'm not fluent in that one. I can get by, but between French and Spanish, I figured it was enough to cover Italian if I ever needed to learn it in a hurry."

John began to laugh and Sherlock also smiled. Marie's face relaxed into a smile as well, her eyes dimming a little as she watched the two men exchange grins. "Well, I'm heading up. Good night." John called as he moved out the door.

"John." Marie called and he glanced back. "Thank you." She whispered and John nodded. "Any time." He replied before he walked up the stairs towards his bedroom, leaving Marie and Sherlock to sit in comfortable silence behind him.


	18. Farewell, Irene

"It's getting late. I should also head to bed." Marie murmured at last, and Sherlock glanced at her as she stretched, rolling her shoulders before standing up. She turned to look back at him over her shoulder, getting ready to say good night as she made to move towards the stairs, when Sherlock also stood up and gently grabbed her arm.

She turned to face him completely, a little surprised by his actions. "Stay with me tonight." He said quietly and she blinked at him. "What?" She asked dumbly and Sherlock repeated, changing it to a question: "Stay with me tonight?"

She observed him silently, pursing her lips a little as she looked at him thoughtfully. Sherlock waited patiently before she said at last: "I don't think that's a good idea." He snorted a little as he said a tad exasperated: "I don't mean anything by my request- I'm just asking you to stay with me tonight."

"Why?" She challenged and Sherlock surprised even himself as he answered honestly: "Because I'm afraid of losing you, and I want to have you with me tonight of all nights." Her eyes softened at that, and she gently took his hands in her own, holding them as she leaned against him. They stood in a loose embrace for a moment.

"I still don't think it's a good idea." She said at last, pulling back a little and tilting her head to look up at him. Sherlock frowned as he asked petulantly: "Why not?" She replied lightly but there was a serious undercurrent to her tone as she said: "Because while you might not be looking for anything, I won't be able to just sleep beside you."

He froze for just one second but she caught it. Her smile became indulgent and she leaned up on her toes to purr in his ear: "Or did you forget that I'm not the innocent girl you once thought I was?"

He stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "I've never really thought you were _innocent_." He pointed out quietly and she laughed a little as she shook her head as she settled back down on her feet. "Hm, I wonder if I should take that as an insult or a compliment?" She wondered and he replied flatly: "It was neither."

"You're right, it was just fact." She agreed easily, making to step back and away. She was a little surprised when Sherlock's arms suddenly locked around her, pulling her against him. She looked up, startled, but before she could protest, Sherlock lowered his head and kissed her.

All thoughts left her mind, and she kissed him back softly. But when he began to deepen the kiss, she pulled back a little and opened her eyes. "Sherlock…" she breathed warningly and he hummed against her as he tried to lean in closer and kiss her again. She turned her head slightly, avoiding his kiss and forcing him to open his eyes and look at her directly.

"I mean it. I haven't been this emotional in years, and I'm still raw from what happened tonight. I won't be able to just let you go to sleep if you keep this up." She warned gently. She blinked in complete surprise when Sherlock murmured: "So don't, then."

She stared at the man in absolute shock as he leaned down to kiss her roughly. He pulled away briefly to whisper in her ear: "I never said I didn't want it. Let me love you tonight." She shivered as he captured her lips with his once more. This time, she didn't fight it.

Her arms curled around him, trailing up his back and her hands tangled themselves in his dark curls. Sherlock's hands moved to hold her waist and as their kiss deepened, one of his hands moved to her head, holding it in place.

Slowly, Sherlock began to back them out and into the hallway leading to his bedroom. She went without protest, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck as they entered his room.

* * *

Marie woke up to find Sherlock already awake, watching her sleep as his hand played lazily with her hair. Her face broke into a smile and she murmured: "Good morning."

She was curious when he just examined her for a beat before he murmured back: "Good morning." She cocked her head to look at him but he just smiled a little and so Marie let it go. She stretched, checking the clock and then yelping.

"I'm going to be late!" She darted out of bed, running about as she gathered her clothes. Sherlock groaned, sitting up in bed to watch her as she hastily tugged on her jeans. "You could just call in sick." He suggested but she shook her head firmly.

"No, that would be irresponsible." She said sternly as she grabbed her shirt. Sherlock got up slowly, walking over to her as she started buttoning her shirt. He wrapped his arms around, hugging her waist and placing his head on her shoulder, nuzzling her neck and hair.

She paused and glanced at him fondly. He murmured: "But you could stay here with me." She shook her head ruefully. Turning around she finished buttoning her shirt as she kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll be back later- try not to burn down the flat before then." She murmured and he sulked but let her go.

She grinned, patting his cheek before heading downstairs to shower and get ready for work in her apartment. Sherlock grumbled as he walked off to shower himself. He stretched, feeling a few aching muscles, before glancing at the clock as well. Despite last night, they hadn't slept in that much, although John would already be awake and heading to work by now.

He thought about last night, and then this morning when he'd watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful, so much younger, in her sleep but also so vulnerable without the bright expressions he'd come to become accustomed to on her face. He remembered how blank her face could look and the dangerous glint that could shine in her green eyes.

She almost looked like a venomous viper when her darker side had been revealed; and yet, the thing that really plagued Sherlock's mind was the deep pain that he'd witnessed when she'd finally let all her guard down before him. He contrasted that with the beautiful smile that had lit her face this morning.

He straightened his back, making a resolution to make wipe away her pain and keep that smile on Marie's face… if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John walked back into 221B later that afternoon to find Sherlock playing his violin again. He was playing a peaceful piece, soft and beautiful and John grinned. He cleared his throat as he entered and Sherlock glanced at him but continued to play without pause. John sat in his armchair, listening quietly, until Sherlock finished and placed his instrument down.

"You've finished composing." John said amused and Sherlock glanced at him. "Yes." The detective replied shortly and John grinned. "I'm not stupid," John said smugly, "it really doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened last night. I ran into Marie outside her flat, after breakfast with Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock chose not to comment and John just continued to sit and beam at him. It was starting to annoy Sherlock, who eventually snapped: "Why are you smiling like that?" John's smile only grew as he heard the irritation in his flat mate's voice, and he replied: "Because I never thought I'd see the day Sherlock Holmes was proven so wrong."

Sherlock looked up at him in complete surprise. John saw a hint of apprehension and he realized what his words probably made Sherlock think of. He amended hastily: "You said sentiment was a weakness, but look at you. Together with a woman. And a very nice girl at that."

Sherlock scoffed: "You sound like Mrs. Hudson." John admitted sheepishly: "We might've been talking about it this morning." Sherlock muttered something very insulting under his breath, which John chose to ignore. They sat quietly, both trying to pretend they were unaware of the elephant in the room, waiting for Marie to come home.

* * *

And so, the months passed. Aside from a trip to Turkey on their three month anniversary- which John thought was really odd of them but he shrugged it off- Sherlock and Marie never really discussed their relationship. Neither were really the type for PDA, and the only real changes Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade could see were when they caught the lovers sharing glances or holding hands whenever they moved during cases.

John was really the only one who knew the depth of their relationship. He often caught them sitting together, talking quietly, and occasionally he would see Marie kiss Sherlock's cheek or Sherlock kiss the top of her head. And there were, of course, now the changes in the morning.

Since the first night, Marie started to sleep in Sherlock's room and so she would often be in the kitchen to greet John in the morning. But on some occasions- John grimaced as he remembered the first time- he'd be in the living room and Marie would walk out with messy hair, wearing Sherlock's shirt as she headed to shower. At least Marie had the decency to grimace back embarrassedly- Sherlock usually just walked out dressed in only his dressing gown, demanding tea.

It was about five months after the Irene incident that John came home to find Mycroft waiting outside the café next to 221. It was pouring rain, and so John almost didn't see the man smoking under his umbrella, but he paused when he did recognize the man.

"You don't smoke." He pointed out as he approached the elder Holmes and Mycroft replied: "I also don't frequent cafés." With that, he tossed aside his cigarette, crushing the butt under his foot as he picked up his briefcase, folded his umbrella and walked into the café.

John followed, sitting down opposite Mycroft as the man ordered coffee for them both. John waited expectantly and sure enough, Mycroft produced a file from his briefcase, placing it on the table before him. John took his coffee as he asked: "This the file on Irene Adler?"

Mycroft nodded as he answered: "Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother – or, if you prefer, _you_ are," John raised his brows but Mycroft continued: "that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive – and thrive – but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care?" John pointed out. "He despised her at the end. Won't even mention her by name – just 'the Woman'." Mycroft replied: "And you're certain it's loathing?" John shrugged as he replied: "I don't know, I guess? I mean, Sherlock doesn't feel things, does he? It's amazing he found love at all."

"Ah, yes," Mycroft nodded, "and how is our lovely assassin?" John winced but he replied: "She's doing well. We've told people her middle name's Marie and that she prefers to be called Rose-Marie." Mycroft raised a brow and John added: "Mrs. Hudson is particularly fond of that name now."

"I see. And with Sherlock?" Mycroft asked and John shrugged. "There's very little outward change." John admitted. "But ever since that night Marie told us who she really was, their private lives have changed. I mean, for one she sleeps in Sherlock's room now-"

"'Sleeping'. Is that what we're calling it now?" Mycroft asked pointedly but John ignored it, feeling uncomfortable talking about his friends' sex lives, as he continued: "but outwardly, they still live separate lives. She goes to work at Bart's, Sherlock works on cases. She joins him, but not any more than she usually used to. It's a very healthy relationship really."

John paused before he added in a low voice: "I'd say that the only difference is that Sherlock worries a little more when he can't see her. I'd guess it's because he's worried about Moriarty. But he never says anything or does anything. Marie told us it's unlikely Moriarty will come after her because they've never really trusted each other, and it's not really his style. More likely, his next move will be a direct one on both of them."

Mycroft didn't comment on that, recognizing the validity of the trio's conclusion. John continued thoughtfully: "It's odd, though, because I never thought Sherlock could feel anything romantic at all…" Mycroft shrugged as he pointed out: "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"

John blinked, before replying confusedly: "I don't know." Mycroft answered bluntly: "Neither do I ... but initially he wanted to be a pirate." John snorted at that image in his head, before glancing down at the file before them on the table.

"He'll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. And I don't think Marie will mind either." John said firmly, and Mycroft sighed as he replied: "I agree. That's why I decided to tell him that." John paused, and he asked suspiciously: "Instead of what?"

"She's dead." Mycroft said flatly. "She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded." John digested that for a second before he asked slowly: "It's definitely her? She's done this before." Mycroft smirked a little grimly as he said: "I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?"

John looked down at the file thoughtfully as Mycroft pushed it across the table at him. "So," Mycroft questioned, "what should we tell Sherlock?"

* * *

3rd Person P.O.V.

Sherlock was working at his microscope in the kitchen and Marie was busy making lunch when they heard John's footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock called as John walked in: "Clearly you've got news. If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring." He finished with a scoff.

Marie gave him a fond smile before looking at John to give him a smile in greeting. Her brow rose as she saw him looking at them a little nervously as he said: "Hi. Er, no, it's, um ... it's about Irene Adler." He glanced down a little, nervous about meeting his friends' questioning gazes.

Marie lifted both brows while Sherlock looked up at John. He asked slowly: "Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?" Marie watched as John fumbled: "No, she's, er ... I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."

Sherlock raised his brows and he asked: "Is she back in London?" He got up and began to approach John questioningly. John replied slowly: "No. She's, er…" John looked like he was struggling with something before he finally said: "She's in America."

Marie blinked while Sherlock repeated questioningly: "America?" John nodded, averting his eyes just slightly from his friends as he explained to them: "Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."

"Hm." Was all Sherlock said as he walked back to his seat and Marie asked as she glanced at the folder John was carrying: "Is that her file?" John looked at it and he replied hastily: "Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft. Er," He looked between the pair as he gestured at it: "Do you want to ...?"

"No." Sherlock replied calmly as he went back to peering into his microscope. John looked like he was struggling internally again, and after a pause he said: "Listen, actually…" Sherlock interrupted as he raised his hand: "Oh, but I _will_ have the camera phone, though."

Marie looked at him with raised brows and John looked surprised. He looked at Marie uneasily as he told Sherlock: "There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped." Sherlock nodded a little as he replied: "I know, but I ... I'll still have it."

John protested: "I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it." Sherlock just raised his hand higher, expectant. John tried again: "Sherlock, I _have_ to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give..."

"Please." Marie said, and John looked at her as she looked at him imploringly, glancing down at Sherlock. John looked between the pair, before he sighed and took out the phone. He handed it to Sherlock who muttered: "Thank you."

Sherlock pocketed the phone and John mumbled awkwardly: "Well, I'd better take this back." "Yes." Sherlock agreed. John paused and glanced at Marie again. Seeing as she wasn't getting upset with the topic, John finally asked Sherlock: "Did she ever text you again, after ... all that?"

"Once, a few months ago." Sherlock replied, and John waited. He asked at last: "What did she say?" Sherlock didn't even hesitate as he recited: "'Goodbye, Mr Holmes'." John mumbled: "Oh." He glanced around awkwardly, but Marie had turned away, turning back to the scones she'd baked.

John left them, heading downstairs and Sherlock raised his head at last. Marie was pulling out the scones from the oven as Sherlock stood up, pulling out the camera phone and scrolling through the messages as he walked over to the windows thoughtfully. Marie placed her scones on the counter and walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him as they stood at the window.

He glanced down at her, and he cracked a smile. She grinned back at him as they both thought the same thing…

 _Irene was sitting on her knees, dressed in a black al-amira in an abandoned lot. There were a few of the terrorist cell members standing as guards and witnesses to her execution as she sat in the headlights of the jeeps that circled the area, the only lights in the pitch-black night._

 _She was holding her phone, having been granted one message before her execution. She sent her last text to Sherlock tearfully before handing the phone over to her guard. The guard walked away as her robed executioner arrived beside her, lifting his sword over her head._

 _She closed her eyes, accepting her fate as a lone tear fell down her cheek._

 _"_ _Ah." A woman's sensual moan sounded. Irene's eyes flew open and she looked up, startled at her executioner. Only his eyes were visible, but she would recognize those ice-blue orbs anywhere. Her eyes widened as Sherlock murmured softly: "When I say run,_ run _."_

 _He made as though to swing but spun in a full circle, slashing the terrorist guards. Irene gasped, her eyes widening further as she spotted a slight figure darting around in the shadows, taking down all the guards silently and effectively taking out all weapons aimed at Sherlock. A small, grateful smile appeared on her face and she bowed her head in silent thanks._


	19. Life continues

It had been like any other day. Marie had been sitting with John, enjoying a cup of mid-morning tea while Sherlock had gone on another case. John had opted to rest at home while Marie had the early morning shift that day and so couldn't join Sherlock. The pair were just enjoying some friendly company after Marie returned from her shift, when the front door banged open.

John saw the subtle way Marie's face lit up and her posture straightening just the slightest in anticipation of Sherlock's return, and he grinned to himself. He loved the two as a brother and sister, and he was glad the pair had found a soul mate in the other. But the moment was ruined as Sherlock entered, and Marie's eyes widened while John's mouth fell open.

Sherlock jabbed the harpoon down, the sharp end pointed up as he muttered: "Well, that was tedious." Marie just stared at him, aghast, while John asked incredulously: "You went on the tube like that?"

Sherlock turned his bloodstained face to his friend as he bit out: "None of the cabs would take me." "I wonder why?" Marie muttered sarcastically as her eyes roamed down Sherlock's blood-covered figure. It looked as though a large spurt of blood- from a dead pig, judging by the bloodied harpoon- had hit him directly in the face, splattering all over his face and shirt, and dripping onto his pants.

Sherlock saw her gaze and he grimaced as he stomped towards their room. Marie sighed while John just gaped, unable to shut his mouth from the shock. "I'll go make sure he doesn't drip blood on everything." Marie sighed as she set her cup down and made her way after Sherlock.

"Well, don't be too loud 'cause I can hear you." John muttered and Marie retorted over her shoulder: "From the way you say that, you'd think Sherlock and I never stop." John shouted back: "I'm not sure you two ever do if you don't have to!"

Marie laughed at him as she walked into Sherlock's room, but it immediately became a grimace as Sherlock looked up from where he'd carelessly tossed his clothes on the floor. She sighed: "Really? Now I'll have to scrub the blood off the floor."

He shrugged as he walked naked towards the bathroom for a shower, carrying the harpoon with him as he called: "Care to join me." She laughed as she replied, shaking her head: "With you looking like that? Not on your life."

He glanced at her as he said, mock-hurt: "Are you suggesting that there is something wrong with my looks?" She teased back: "Yes actually, I prefer my men not bloodied." He smiled at her and sent her a wink as he closed the bathroom door to shower. Marie picked up his discarded clothes, wrinkling at the amount of blood on them.

She walked back into the kitchen, using the kitchen tap to try and wash most of the blood off. While the pants might be saved with a good wash, the shirt was ruined beyond repair. Pity, because she liked that one- the light blue complemented Sherlock's eyes.

With a shrug, she dumped it into the trashcan, throwing the pants and socks into the washing machine. John had watched her in amusement before turning back to the morning paper that he hadn't finished reading while Marie grabbed a scrubbing brush and a bucket, heading back to the room to work the blood off their bedroom floor before it left a stain.

* * *

Marie had just left to buy groceries when Sherlock walked back into the living room, cleaned and freshly dressed. His look was completed by his blue dressing gown and the now clean harpoon. He glanced around for Marie, and seeing her absent, immediately sulked, pacing the room agitated as he demanded: "Nothing?"

John sighed. Sherlock had started to become almost unbearable when Marie wasn't around. He supposed it was a mix of both loss and anxiety- after all, they still didn't know with certainty how Moriarty would react and what he would do now that Marie had chosen to stay by Sherlock's side.

John shook the paper and he read aloud: "Military coup in Uganda." Sherlock just hummed disinterested so John added as he looked at an article: "Another photo of you with the, er ..." He gestured at the deerstalker and Sherlock made a disgusted sound as he turned away, clutching his harpoon with a frown.

"Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle." John read and Sherlock asked irritably: "Nothing of importance?" When there was no reply, Sherlock slammed the harpoon into the ground as he snapped: "Oh, God!" He turned to his friend abruptly as he said flatly: _"_ John, I need some. Get me some."

John looked at him pointedly as he replied firmly: "No." "Get me some." Sherlock demanded and John snapped sternly: "No. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what." Sherlock groaned as he turned away and John added: "Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius'll sell you any."

John turned back to his paper as Sherlock muttered: "Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?" John sighed, clearing his throat pointedly. Sherlock yelled as he tossed his harpoon to the side, fed up: "Mrs Hudson!"

The tall man then turned to his desk, throwing papers and books as he searched frantically. John sighed before he said firmly: "Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now." John tried but Sherlock just snapped as he searched the room desperately: "Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me."

John didn't reply and Sherlock straightened, turning to face his friend as he said quietly and sincerely: "Please." John just said flatly: "Can't help, sorry." He turned back to his paper and Sherlock said quickly: "I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." John chuckled in amusement and Sherlock said petulantly: "Oh, it was worth a try."

Sherlock lunged for the fireplace, grabbing his slippers and checking them. "Sherlock, come on. Marie was so proud of you." John tried but Sherlock just groaned in response as Mrs. Hudson entered with her usual chirpy hoot. Sherlock didn't even look up as he demanded from her: "My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?" Mrs. Hudson asked, completely confused and Sherlock snapped: "Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?" Mrs. Hudson said in exasperation: "You know you never let me touch your things! Ooh, chance would be a fine thing." She added as she looked around at the mess Sherlock had made.

Sherlock whirled on her as he snarled: "I thought you weren't my housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson said flatly: "I'm not. Although," she added as she looked around the room more closely, "things have gotten tidier since Rose-Marie moved in with you."

Sherlock snarled a little as he stormed past, still angry about the cigarettes. Mrs. Hudson and John glanced at each other and John mimed drinking. Mrs. Hudson caught on and she suggested quickly: "How about a nice cuppa," Sherlock picked up his harpoon again and she added, "and perhaps you could put away your harpoon."

Sherlock muttered: "I need something _stronger_ than tea. Seven percent stronger." He suddenly turned on Mrs. Hudson, pointing his harpoon at her and she gasped, startled. Sherlock didn't even notice as he said: "You've been to see Mr Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?" Mrs. Hudson asked while John turned to look at Sherlock warningly. Sherlock ignored him as he deducted: "Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock ..." John warned but Sherlock ignored him as he continued: "Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where _that_ leads, don't we?" He abruptly sniffed deeply and he added: "Mmm: 'Kasbah Nights.' Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up."

He tossed the harpoon down and walked past them, pacing the living room as Mrs. Hudson scoffed: "Please." Sherlock then put the cherry on the icing as he added: "I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John chided as Mrs. Hudson looked hurt but Sherlock didn't notice as he said mockingly: "Well, nobody except me." Mrs. Hudson snapped, hurt: "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." She turned and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Sherlock hopped onto his armchair, running his hands through his hair frantically before curling his hands around his knees as he hugged himself in a foetus position on the chair. John threw his paper down as he demanded: "What the bloody hell was all that about?"

Sherlock groaned as he muttered: "You don't understand." John ordered: "Go after her and apologise." He jerked his hand in the direction Mrs. Hudson had left and Sherlock looked up at him as he repeated, confused: "Apologise?"

"Mmm-hmm." John hummed and Sherlock sighed as he said mock-wistfully: "Oh, John, I envy you so much." John saw where this was probably going and he repeated defeated: "You envy me?"

As expected, Sherlock replied: "Your mind: it's so placid, straightforward, barely used." John frowned but just let Sherlock continue as the man said frantically: "Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" He finally yelled.

John shouted back, exasperated: "You've just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!" He pointed at the harpoon in the corner of the room and Sherlock groaned as he snapped: "That was this morning! When's the next one?"

At that moment the apartment door was thrown open. John glanced back, hoping it was Marie and when he saw the now-familiar dark brown hair he almost sighed in relief. But he saw her face and his heart sank. _Oh no._ Sherlock didn't seem to notice, just jumping up excitedly as he yelled happily: "Marie!"

She glared at him as she demanded furiously: "What the hell did you do to Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock blinked and John sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. "Pardon?" Sherlock asked incredulously and Marie snapped: "I just passed Mrs. Hudson in the hallway, and she was heart-broken about something you said! What did you do to the poor woman?"

Sherlock snorted derisively while John glared. "I just told her the truth about Mr. Chatterjee. How he-" "You told her about his wife? Why couldn't you have told her nicely?" Marie cut in as she demanded furiously. John looked surprised (although, really, by this point he shouldn't have been) while Sherlock groaned.

"I needed to do something! Anything!" He said in exasperation, and Marie looked at him closely. She then glanced at John questioningly, and he nodded in reply. Sherlock saw the exchange and he said hopefully: "Marie, please."

She just gave him a look and he groaned as he resumed his foetus position on his armchair. Marie moved the groceries into the kitchen in exasperation while John tried: "Nothing on the website?"

Sherlock got up and thrust his laptop at John dismissively as he recited in a mocking little girl's voice: "'Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help'?" John read the entry as he repeated questioningly: "Bluebell?"

Sherlock snapped: "A rabbit, John!" John muttered: "Oh" while Marie sighed. Sherlock continued: "Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous ... 'like a fairy'," he quoted derisively in that horrible little girl's voice, "according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry ... Ah!"

He suddenly stopped talking while Marie also lifted her head, interested. Sherlock murmured: "What am I saying? This is brilliant. Phone Lestrade." He ordered John who looked up incredulously. Sherlock continued obliviously: "Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" John asked in complete disbelief and Sherlock retorted: "It's this, or Cluedo." Marie snorted while John said firmly: "Ah, no. We are _never_ playing that again!" He snapped the laptop shut, moving to place it on the desk while Sherlock asked: "Why not?"

Marie began to laugh while John retorted: "Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why." Sherlock's face contorted in confusion as he muttered: "Well, it was the only possible solution." Marie was laughing harder and Sherlock glared at her.

John explained: "It's not in the rules." Sherlock retorted childishly: "Then the rules are wrong!" Marie laughed at him as he pouted, when suddenly there was ring on the doorbell. John lifted a finger and Marie quietened, smiling at Sherlock's suddenly lit face.

"Single ring." John pointed out and Sherlock murmured: "Maximum pressure just under the half second." The boys looked at each other and Marie watched with fond amusement as they said together: "Client."

* A/N Sorry it's kind of short but I will be updating more soon!


	20. Hounds of Baskerville

The trio sat watching the news clip their client had brought in about the government facility, Baskerville, in the area known as Dartmoor. Sherlock was leaning his head slightly against one hand, his pinkie finger ticking irritably as they watched the presenter explain about how there were mysterious stories, horror stories, about genetic experiments going on inside Baskerville.

The clip switched to an interview and they saw their client, Henry Knight, murmur shakily on-screen: "I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor." The news clip then showed a drawing Henry had done when he was nine, showing a black dog with bright red eyes. "It was dark, but I know what I saw. I _know_ what killed my father."

Sherlock paused the clip, irritably, and he addressed Henry directly as he asked shortly: "What did you see?" Henry stuttered: "Oh. I ... I was just about to say."

He indicated to the TV and Sherlock interrupted: "Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing."

He sat with his fingers pressed together before his mouth, looking at Henry expectantly and the other man mumbled nervously: "Yes. Sorry, yes, of course." He fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a napkin as he muttered: "'Scuse me."

He blew his nose loudly and John said kindly: "In your own time." "But quite quickly." Sherlock added shortly. Marie and John rolled their eyes bit but Henry didn't notice. He paused before he asked: "Do you know Dartmoor, Mr Holmes?"

"No." Sherlock replied flatly. Marie could hear Sherlock was very disinterested in this case, and it would only be a matter of time before Henry wore out Sherlock's patience. Henry just continued: "It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of ... bleak but beautiful."

Sherlock replied: "Mmm, not interested. Moving on." John winced while Marie sighed quietly, and Henry looked a little confused but he went on: "We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me." Marie knew he was going about this the wrong way as Henry said: "Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

Marie sighed as Sherlock interrupted again, saying irritably: "Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?" Henry looked extremely put out but he explained hesitantly: "There's a place – it's... it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow."

He had been clearly expecting some kind of reaction but all three of them gave him a blank look. Henry explained: "That's an ancient name for the Devil." "So?" Sherlock asked with an impatient shrug. Henry looked confused, as though he couldn't believe Sherlock's reaction. John chimed in helpfully: "Did you see the Devil that night?"

Henry looked at him as he replied softly: "Yes." He looked between the three of them as he described it: "It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart." He turned away, his voice breaking as he said: "I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

John repeated slowly: "Hmm. Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous… A dog? Wolf?" He suggested to the other two and Sherlock scoffed: "Or a genetic experiment."

Marie winced a little as Sherlock turned his head away from Henry in complete disinterest. Henry's eyes narrowed a little and he asked: "Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock retorted mockingly and Henry said darkly: "My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there." Sherlock raised a brow and Henry snapped: "People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

Sherlock said dryly: "And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism."

John interrupted before Sherlock could do more damage: "Yeah ... Henry," he addressed the man kindly while Sherlock sighed and looked away again irritated, "whatever _did_ happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

Henry glared at Sherlock as he said defiantly: "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes," Sherlock raised a brow while Marie placed a hand warningly on her boyfriend's shoulder, "since you find it all so funny." Henry made to get up and leave when Sherlock interrupted: "Because of what happened last night?"

Henry paused while John asked: "Why, what happened last night?"

"He had another encounter last night." Marie explained. Henry looked at the pair in shock as he asked: "How ... how do you know?" "I didn't know; I noticed." Sherlock answered flatly.

John looked resigned as Sherlock listed: "You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr Knight," Sherlock indicated the seat Henry had just vacated with his eyes, "and do _please_ smoke. I'd be delighted."

Marie dropped her hand off Sherlock's shoulder in exasperation, Henry looked confused while John looked annoyed. Henry moved back to his seat and as he sank back into his chair, he pulled out his cigarettes and he murmured in shock: "How on earth did you notice all that?"

"It's not important ..." John tried to stop but Sherlock immediately began: "Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked ..." John interrupted exasperated: "Not now, Sherlock. Marie, stop him."

Marie sighed as Sherlock sighed and snapped: "Oh _please_. I've been cooped up in here for ages." "You're just showing off." John muttered.

"Marie, back me up." He implored but the woman just sighed again. Sherlock replied, with a triumphant look as he glanced at Marie before back at John: "Of _course_. I _am_ a show-off. That's what we do _."_

John gave up as Sherlock listed, pointing out each item on Henry: _"_ The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

Henry snorted a little as he asked incredulously: "How did you know it was disappointing?" "Is there any other type of breakfast on a train?" Sherlock asked rhetorically and Henry pulled a face in acknowledgement. Sherlock continued: "The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle."

"Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose." John frowned but Sherlock continued: "Maybe you're not that into her after all."

"Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's," Sherlock checked his watch, "just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

Sherlock sat expectantly and Henry sat in shock. He murmured: "No." Sherlock smirked as Henry said in awe: "You're right. You're completely, exactly right."

John just took a fortifying sip of tea as Henry murmured: "Bloody hell, I heard you were quick." John just smiled grimly and Sherlock retorted: "It's my job."

He leaned forward, staring at Henry as he snarled: "Now shut up and smoke."

John grimaced and Marie chided: "Sherlock." Henry just silently began to search for his lighter as John cleared his throat before asking: "Um, Henry," the man lit his cigarette as John questioned, "your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

Henry nodded a little as he put away his lighter, but he became completely unnerved as Sherlock stood, leaning in close and sniffing the fumes off Henry's cigarette. John's voice faltered as he and Henry stared at Sherlock who had sat back in his seat, completely satisfied while Marie dropped her face into her hands with a groan.

John continued stoically: "That must be a ... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this ..." his voice faltered again as Sherlock leaned forward once more to take a deep sniff of the cigarette fumes again. Henry was looking almost frightened but John continued once more, determinedly: "to account for it?"

Henry turned to John as he replied slowly, still looking unnerved: "That's what Doctor Mortimer says."

John's brow furrowed as he asked: "Who?" "His therapist" Sherlock and Marie replied at the same time Henry explained: "My therapist."

Henry stared at them but Sherlock didn't even skip a beat as he retorted: "Obviously." Marie just sighed again, and Henry continued his explanation: "Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

His face blanked as he drew in on his cigarette and Sherlock demanded: "And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry?"

Henry looked at him in surprise and Sherlock listed: "You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

Henry shifted nervously as he explained: "It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid." Henry's voice shook and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he said irritated: "Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier."

John sighed while Marie smacked Sherlock's shoulder a little. Sherlock ignored it as he repeated: "What did you _see_?"

Henry glanced between Sherlock and Marie before he said shakily: "Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart." Sherlock leaned back, his patience finished with the situation. John didn't notice as he wrote the information down, asking: "Man's or a woman's?"

"Neither. They were ..." Henry began dramatically but Sherlock interrupted sharply: "Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?" Henry looked startled as he blubbered: "Yes, but they were ..."

Sherlock interrupted again as he said shortly: "No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory." John blinked, while Sherlock sighed and finished: "Boring! Goodbye, Mr Knight. Thank you for smoking."

He dismissed and Henry asked confusedly: "No, but what about the footprints?" Sherlock answered dismissively: "Oh, they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing."

He leaned forward as he said mockingly: "Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me." He stood up, fixing his suit. Marie pursed her lips at his rude behaviour while John just looked resigned. Sherlock began to walk out when Henry said angrily: "Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Marie's head whipped to look at Henry while Sherlock paused in his steps into the kitchen. Sherlock turned slowly, and his eyes narrowed as he walked back into the living room. "Say that again." He ordered, his eyes focused sharply on Henry.

Henry started: "I found the footprints; they were ..." Sherlock interrupted as he ordered firmly: "No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

Marie also waited as she stared at the man. Henry looked confused but he repeated slowly: "Mr Holmes… they were the footprints of a gigantic ... hound." Marie's eyes widened while Sherlock's face shifted, turning into a grim smile.

"I'll take the case." He murmured and John looked up in shock. "Sorry, what?" He asked and Marie glanced at him while Sherlock ignored him as he said to Henry: "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising."

Henry was also looking confused at Sherlock's abrupt turn-around in manner and John said confusedly: "No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?" "It's nothing to do with footprints." Sherlock said dismissively. "As ever, John, you weren't listening."

Marie wrinkled her nose but Sherlock just continued: "Baskerville: ever heard of it?" "Vaguely." John replied uncertainly. "It's very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start." Sherlock murmured and Henry said: "Ah! You'll come down, then?"

Marie sighed placing her head in her hands as Sherlock replied airily: "No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry – putting my best man onto it." He walked over and patted John's shoulder.

Marie groaned while John gaped at him in disbelief and Sherlock said with false cheer: "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself." He smiled as he insulted his friend, but John ignored the jibe, as he demanded: "What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining ..."

Sherlock interrupted: "Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell!" John and Marie were looking extremely annoyed but Sherlock just continued in that false cheery voice: "The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" He turned to Henry as he added in a stage whisper: "NATO's in uproar."

Henry said in confusion: "Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Sherlock pulled a mock sorrowful expression and John finally groaned in defeat. He gave a defeated, tired smile as he said: "Okay." Henry looked confused while Sherlock looked triumphant as John stood up.

"Okay." John said irritably but with as much forced calm as he could as he walked determinedly over to the skull on the mantelpiece. Marie was frowning, extremely annoyed, as John pulled out the stash of cigarettes from beneath the skull with a resigned sigh.

Henry was looking on, completely confused as John tossed the pack at Sherlock who caught it expertly, before tossing it off his shoulder just as quickly as he caught it. John blinked but Sherlock replied happily: "I don't need those any more. I'm going to Dartmoor." John groaned while Henry looked confused.

Sherlock walked out the door as he called: "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later." Henry called after him, standing as he asked confused: "Er, sorry, so you are coming?"

John was shaking his head in exasperation as Sherlock turned back into the room and asked: "Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

And with that he walked off to his room to pack. Marie bid the confused Henry goodbye, letting John show the poor man out as she walked into the bedroom she and Sherlock now shared. She leaned on the doorframe as Sherlock tossed clothes into his case and he glanced at her, quickly looking away.

"Are you happy now that you've one-upped John and me?" She asked irritably and he sighed as he paused in his packing. He stood up straight and walked over to her, taking her hands gently in his. Her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed, as he said softly: "Sorry."

She gave in with a sigh, letting him pull her into a hug. "How is a sociopath so good at manipulating others?" She half-teased and he replied lightly: "Because he's a genius." She gave a small chuckle at that, the two breaking apart as they heard John come back up the stairs.

Marie folded Sherlock's clothes neatly, re-packing them in the carrier bag as he watched. "Pack your things, too?" He phrased his request as an almost order and she glanced at him to see that moment of vulnerability that sometimes flickered in his eyes- his fear of being separated from her.

Her face softened as she replied lightly: "Of course. A giant hound on the loose in Baskerville? Wouldn't miss it for the world." She teased, and he smiled. He kissed her forehead and then let her finish packing. As they walked to the door, he silently took the carrier from her, taking it downstairs.

Sherlock walked out ahead to catch a cab while Marie waited inside for John. He appeared, carrying his travel bags and the pair walked out together. They heard a furious shouting from next door and they glanced over to see Mrs. Hudson throwing a fit at Mr. Chatterjee. John muttered as they joined Sherlock by the cab: "Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster."

Sherlock hummed in agreement before he added: "Mmm. Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad." John chuckled a little before he hopped into the cab. Sherlock let Marie get in before climbing in last, saying to the driver: "Paddington Station, please."

They drove off, and as John stared out the window, he noticed the reflection of his two companions. Sherlock was on his phone while Marie just leaned back in her seat, but the two had loosely interlocked their hands in the empty space between them, almost absently.

He grinned a little at that, turning away again quickly before Sherlock noticed what John had been looking at.


	21. Baskerville

The trio drove in the early morning light on the moor, having spent the night on the train. Sherlock was behind the wheel, Marie beside him while John sat in the back. They all stared out silently, Sherlock focused on driving while John and Marie took in the moor around them.

They stopped just at the edges of the moor, and John murmured as he consulted a map: "There's Baskerville." He pointed out the facility and then the village Henry was from as he peered at the map: "That's Grimpen Village. So that must be ..." He check the map again and then nodded at the area he'd been looking at: "yeah, it's Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock peered around and he suddenly pointed to an open field around Baskerville that had danger signs on it. "What's that?" He asked and John peered at the symbols through his binoculars as he said slowly: "Hmm? Minefield?"

Marie looked at him and he handed her the binoculars. She peered through with narrowed eyes as John pointed: "Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out." Sherlock continued to look around as he muttered: "Clearly."

They drove through to Grimpen Viallge, heading for their hotel. Sherlock parked them and as they walked towards the hotel, passing the restaurant, they saw a young man acting as a guide addressing his group. Marie peered down and saw a sign beside the guide that read: 'Beware the HOUND!' There it was again- that word.

She listened as the guide finished off: "Don't be strangers, and remember ... stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!" The group chuckled as they dispersed. Marie hurried after John and Sherlock, and she saw John watching Sherlock amusedly as Sherlock tightened his jacket, raising the collar.

Sherlock noticed, and muttered lamely: "I'm cold." Marie smiled as John suppressed one of his own, but as they walked into the inn, John and Marie exchanged smirks. John went ahead to get their booked room keys while Sherlock puttered around, examining the vegetarian restaurant.

Marie had gone ahead to sit outside, and she was observing the tourist guide from earlier. He was a youngish man, probably around her age, and he was currently on his phone but heading towards a vacant table.

As he hung up and sat down, Marie walked over to him. "Mind if I join you?" She asked as she flashed a winning smile. He glanced at her before doing a double take. He nodded slowly, his eyes raking her body. She chose to ignore that, sitting opposite him where she could see Sherlock was watching intently.

"So, what's a pretty girl like you doing out here on your own?" The guide asked and she smiled as she replied: "Oh, just looking around. I heard about the hound," she indicated his sign, "and thought it might be interesting. But it can't actually be true, can it?"

The boy lifted his brows at her as he replied: "What if it was?" He asked and she smiled coyly as she said flirtatiously: "Now, look here. I don't doubt your dashing looks are enough to fool some," his lips had curved at that and Marie leaned a little in as she said coquettishly, "but even then, I have to say I doubt it."

"Oh yeah? What if I said I had proof?" He asked and she pretended to blink in surprise. "You're pulling my leg." She giggled and he smirked as he whipped out his phone, leaning in to show her something on it.

"No, I'm not." He said mysteriously as he flicked through his phone. "I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn't make much out." He showed her a fuzzy picture and she raised her brows.

"You trying to impress me with that, big boy?" She challenged and he grinned as she'd leaned in closer to him. John had joined Sherlock outside, and the pair were slowly making their way over to where Marie was sitting.

The guide didn't notice, too focused on the dark-haired beauty before him as he replied: "Well, no, that's not all…" He trailed off suggestively and Marie smiled beguilingly as she teased: "No? You got something else there to impress a girl?"

He grinned at her innuendo, but he explained himself seriously: "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD." His voice began to take on a hushed tone as he worked his way up to his horror story. "One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet."

John and Sherlock were close enough to hear but the boy was too focused on his story as he said darkly: "I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. _Terrible_ things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there – the really _secret_ labs, he said he'd seen ... terrible things."

Marie's interest was no longer feigned as she asked slowly: "What things?" Sherlock and John arrived as the guide said slowly: "Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs ..." he reached into his bag and pulled out a rock cast, "dogs the size of horses."

He showed her the imprint of what was clearly a dog's footprint. Except it was monstrous in size: more the size of a bear's paw than a dog's. Marie's face had whitened as she stared and the guide looked almost triumphant until he noticed the two men standing beside the table.

Sherlock leaned in to take a closer look and the guide started, looking startled as he began: "Oi-" but Marie had seen enough and she said with forced cheer: "Oh, Sherly, all ready?"

He blinked at her, probably because of the nickname she'd thought of on the spot, but he caught on quickly. "Oh, yes. Two rooms- one double and one single, so unfortunately John's not going to be able to bring over company."

John sighed but let it slide as Marie said to the guide brightly: "Well, thanks. That was very interesting. Really spooky." She took Sherlock's arm as the guide looked bewildered and a little hurt, but Marie was already dragging Sherlock off with her.

Sherlock's face was thoughtful, thinking back to what they'd seen. He led her over to their car, John trailing behind them, now more determined than ever to take a look around Baskerville.

* * *

As they drove up to the front gates, both Sherlock and Marie quickly analysed every detail. Sherlock merely catalogued all of the information while Marie's mind whirred, taking note of every weak point and automatically plotting every possible escape route.

Sherlock said quietly as they approached: "Don't engage. Even if we're caught, Mycroft will be able to get us out. That's far safer than you using any ulterior method." She started a little but when she glanced over and saw his concerned gaze she smiled and nodded.

"I know. It was just habit." She replied and he answered: "I know. But I thought I'd let your mind take a break from that kind of thought." She smiled as John grinned at them, although it slid off quickly as they became serious.

As they stopped at the gate, the guard came over and said firmly: "Pass, please." Sherlock handed over a card and the guard said politely: "Thank you." He walked off to the gate, and John murmured incredulously: "You've got ID for Baskerville. How?"

Sherlock murmured back, cautiously moving his lips as little as possible as other guards checked around car for anything dangerous: "It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's. Access all areas. I, um ..." he cleared his throat, "acquired it ages ago, just in case."

John and Marie sighed under their breaths and John muttered sarcastically: "Brilliant." Sherlock turned to him as he demanded: "What's the matter?" "We'll get caught." John snapped back.

"No we won't," Sherlock scoffed, but he added: "well, not just yet."

John muttered sarcastically: "Caught in five minutes." He role-played sardonically: 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in – kettle's just boiled.' That's if we don't get shot." He added under his breath just as the gates opened and the guard ordered: "Clear."

He handed the card back to Sherlock who accepted it with a quick: "Thank you." He drove them on as the guard informed them: "Straight through, sir."

John said disbelievingly as they drove through: "Mycroft's name _literally_ opens doors."

Sherlock answered flatly: "I've told you – he practically _is_ the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realise something's wrong." Marie sighed and she muttered: "And you want me not to worry."

He didn't reply as they pulled up. They jumped out of the car and followed a guard into the facility. John looked around curiously while Sherlock watched everything with a critical eye. Marie had tensed slightly- the military base brought memories too close to her old job for comfort.

A car pulled up before them and an officer jumped out, asking Sherlock hastily: "What is it? Are we in trouble?" Sherlock didn't even pause in his strides as he corrected: "'Are we in trouble, _sir'_?"

The officer quickly corrected contritely: "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." They stopped and Sherlock appraised the man. "You were expecting us?" Sherlock asked suspiciously and the officer explained as he introduced himself: "Your ID showed up straight away, Mr Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security."

He glanced at John and Marie before addressing Sherlock once more: "Is there something wrong, sir?"

Sherlock replied without a beat's hesitation: "Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not." Lyons continued firmly: "It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn't happen."

John interrupted: "Ever heard of a spot check?"

When the man looked at him hesitantly, John introduced himself as he pulled out his ID: "Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." "Sir." Lyons immediately saluted him, and John returned the salute as Lyons glanced at Marie.

"My secretary." Sherlock introduced and Marie nodded once, showing polite disinterest. Lyons didn't question it and he informed Sherlock: "Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you both."

John countered firmly: "I'm afraid we won't have time for that. We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on." When Lyons hesitated John added: "That's an order, Corporal."

Lyons immediately replied: "Yes, sir." He bowed his head in deference and led them away. They followed silently, the men all clasping their hands behind their backs. Lyons swiped his card on the security machine and stood back. Sherlock stepped forward and swiped Mycroft's card and the machine beeped green.

The doors unlocked, and Sherlock quickly and covertly checked his watch. Marie glanced down to see it too, as they stepped inside. She had promised Sherlock she would let him- which meant Mycroft- handle the situation once it got sticky, but she was also going to prepare for the worst case, wherein they wouldn't need Mycroft because the army would be shooting to kill.

As they walked through the white halls, Sherlock murmured to John: "Nice touch." John muttered back: "Haven't pulled rank in ages." Sherlock smirked just a little as he asked snidely: "Enjoy it?" John replied immediately: "Oh yeah."

Marie smiled inside at that, but she kept her outward face completely emotionless. Sherlock was once again amazed at just how different this woman could be when she chose. As Sherlock was required to swipe again for the elevator, Marie's posture became just slightly more tense. The more times he swiped, the quicker the message for a personal confirmation from Mycroft would raise an alert.

As they reached a different floor, they found themselves in a lab. They looked around at all the animals kept in cages and Sherlock asked: "How many animals do you keep down here?" Lyons replied simply: "Lots, sir."

"Any ever escape?" Sherlock questioned and Lyons replied: "They'd have to know how to use that lift, sir." He indicated the security elevator and he said almost jokingly: "We're not breeding them that clever."

"Unless they have help." Sherlock mused, when they were interrupted by an elderly doctor. "Ah, and you are?" He asked and Lyons stood at attention as he reported: "Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I'm just showing these gentlemen around."

Frankland said good naturedly: "Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!" He joked before he left them. John questioned: "How far down does that lift go?"

"Quite a way, sir." Lyons replied and John checked: "Mmm-hmm. And what's down there?" Lyons replied lightly: "Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way, please, gentlemen." John paused to watch Frankland as he glanced back at the group curiously before swiping his security card on the elevator.

Sherlock was looking around the lab carefully while Marie pretended to be waiting for him patiently as a good secretary would. She was in reality checking all the experiments going on around them, while also processing the different ways to escape.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?" John asked Lyons as they moved on and Lyons asked: "I thought you'd know, sir, this being an inspection." John didn't miss a beat as he replied: "Well, I'm not an expert, am I?" Lyons conceded as he explained: "Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir."

"But mostly weaponry?" John checked, and Lyons replied shortly: "Of one sort or another, yes." John continued: "Biological, chemical ...?" Lyons swiped on the door at the end of the lab and he turned to address John while Sherlock stepped up to swipe his ID: "One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared."

Sherlock checked his watch quickly while Lyons was facing John and Marie also glanced at it covertly. As they entered the next lab, Lyons called: "Doctor Stapleton." Sherlock repeated the name quietly, sounding confused. Marie's eyes flickered to him but returned to the situation at hand as Stapleton looked at them.

"Who's this?" She asked and Lyons explained: "Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection." Stapleton asked in disbelief: "Really?" Sherlock said sharply: "We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What's your role at Baskerville?"

Stapleton snorted and Lyons looked a little nervous. John said sternly: "Er, accorded every courtesy, isn't that the idea?" Stapleton replied just as firmly: "I'm not free to say. Official secrets." Sherlock said scathingly: "Oh, you most certainly are free ... and I suggest you remain that way."

John's brow furrowed while Marie's eyes narrowed just slightly at Sherlock's sharp tone. Stapleton was looking at Sherlock pointedly as she answered: "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly," Sherlock's eyes suddenly lit up but only Marie noticed as the others were looking at Stapleton who was still talking.

"Now and again, actual fingers." She somewhat joked but Sherlock wasn't paying attention as he whipped out his pen and pad. "Stapleton. I _knew_ I knew your name." He muttered and Stapleton muttered: "I doubt it."

Sherlock ignored it as he replied, writing something down: "People say there's no such thing as coincidence." Lyons was looking a little confused, and John was trying not to show his confusion as well. Marie's face was perfectly blank but inside her mind whirred, trying to figure out what Sherlock was doing as he muttered: "What dull lives they must lead."

He held up the notepad with one word written on it: 'Bluebell.' He watched Stapleton carefully as Lyons leaned over to read what he'd written. Stapleton's face changed abruptly and she demanded: "Have you been talking to my daughter?"

John frowned in confusion as Sherlock asked bluntly: "Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?" John looked between them as he asked: "The rabbit?" Marie recalled Sherlock mentioning the rabbit before and her eyes widened a little bit in surprise. Sherlock continued, still focused on Stapleton: "Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive."

"The rabbit?" John asked again, confused as to what Sherlock was doing, but Sherlock ignored him again as he said: "Clearly an inside job." Stapleton had her arms folded defensively as she challenged: "Oh, you reckon?"

"Why? Because it glowed in the dark." Sherlock sneered at her, and Stapleton said flatly and defiantly: "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Marie coughed a little and Sherlock suddenly remembered as he checked his watch. Stapleton didn't notice as she demanded: "Who are you?"

Sherlock ignored her as he said quickly: "Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much." Lyons looked confused as he asked: "That's it?" Sherlock turned away as he looked at the way they'd come, saying over his shoulder: "That's it. It's this way, isn't it?"

Stapleton shouted after them: "Just a minute!" But Sherlock didn't pause in his strides and John asked angrily under his breath: "Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?" Sherlock just swiped his card as Lyons caught up, and John was forced to give the matter a rest for now.

They had reached the first lab they'd 'inspected' when Sherlock received a text. He smirked and scoffed: "Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft's getting slow." They reached the elevator's and Sherlock swiped in. Lyons followed quickly, and the door opened to reveal Doctor Frankland.

He looked surprised but he greeted cheerily: "Hello ... again." They didn't reply as they stepped in. Marie was beginning to tense a little, not liking how long they were taking. Her gut was giving her a bad feeling and she'd long learned to follow that feeling.

Sure enough, when the elevator doors slid open at the first floor, a man stood waiting for them. He had a closely shaven head but a neat beard around his face; Marie was more interested in his hand though, held loosely at his sides but close enough to grab his gun at a moment's notice. Lyons was also surprised as he said curtly: "Er, um, Major ..."

"This is bloody outrageous." The Major said coldly and Lyons bowed his head immediately. "Why wasn't I told?" The major demanded and John quickly stepped in as he asked: "Major Barrymore, is it? Yes, well, good." John stepped out of the elevator calmly as he said naturally: "Very good. We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr Holmes?"

He looked back at Sherlock who'd stepped out behind him, and Sherlock replied as he simply passed the major: "Deeply; hugely." He checked another message on his phone; Marie could only assume it was from Mycroft. Barrymore was furious as he spat after them: "The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense ..."

Sherlock interjected: "I'm so sorry, Major." Barrymore was now following them out as he snarled: "Inspections!" Sherlock called back as he walked quickly towards the last doors and their escape: "New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows _what_ you'd get up to."

"Keep walking." He muttered under his breath to Marie and John as they followed closely behind him, when suddenly Lyons called sharply from behind Barrymore: "Sir!" Lyons slammed a button and the alarms blared. John glanced up while Sherlock and Marie looked back, Marie's muscles tightening slightly.

"ID unauthorised, sir." Lyons informed and Barrymore asked sharply: "What?" Lyons explained: "I've just had the call." Barrymore turned back to the group as he asked darkly: "Is that right? Who are you?" He demanded. Marie shifted her weight just slightly to sit back on her heels; it was so minute only an extremely observant eye could see it.

Sherlock saw and he glanced at her while John said firmly to Barrymore: "Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake." The major held out his hand and Sherlock handed over his ID card. Barrymore glanced at it and he said scathingly: "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes."

Doctor Frankland had walked up to join them while John tried to keep up appearances as he tsked: "Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report." Barrymore snarled, furious: "What the hell's going on?!" Marie's eyes flashed as she saw the man's hand drifting to his gun, but suddenly Frankland spoke up: "It's all right, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen are."

"You do?" Barrymore asked in confusion and Frankland replied easily: "Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place." They all tensed slightly, expecting him to recognize Sherlock. Sherlock began: "Ah, well ..."

"Good to see you again, Mycroft." Frankland interrupted as he held out a hand. John's face held a moment's surprise before he schooled it. Marie's face never gave anything away. Sherlock was quick to accept the man's handshake as Frankland continued: "I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in ... Brussels, was it?" He asked.

"Vienna." Sherlock corrected naturally as Barrymore looked between them suspiciously. Frankland took it in stride as he agreed: "Vienna, that's it. This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake." He soothed.

Barrymore turned and nodded at Lyons, who moved to shut off the alarm. The major glared at the doctor as he said darkly: "On your head be it, Doctor Frankland." Frank just scoffed and turned to Lyons and said: "I'll show them out, Corporal."

"Very well, sir." Lyons replied and Sherlock walked on ahead to the doors, John and Marie right behind him. As they stepped out and out of earshot, Sherlock murmured: "Thank you." Frankland asked: "This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?"

When the group looked a little surprised, he murmured: "I _thought_ so. I knew he wanted help but I didn't realise he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock smiled grimly and Frankland reassured: "Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though." He added.

Sherlock grimaced as he replied: "That wasn't my hat." Frankland told John and Marie: "I hardly recognise him without the hat!" Sherlock replied through grit teeth: "It wasn't my hat." Marie patted his arm, but her face was still grim. He glanced at her as Frankland said to John enthusiastically: "I love the blog too, Doctor Watson."

"Oh, cheers!" John said thankfully and Frankland murmured: "The, er, the Pink thing ..." John hummed and Frankland said with satisfaction: "... and that one about the aluminium crutch!" John just nodded politely as he replied: "Yes."

Sherlock interrupted: "You know Henry Knight?" Frankland stopped and they all stood in an empty part of the facility parking as Frankland admitted: "Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend." Sherlock examined the man as Frankland glanced around to see Barrymore staring after them.

He leaned in to say seriously: "Listen, I can't really talk now. Here's my, er, cell number." He handed Sherlock a business card as he said quietly: "If I could help with Henry, give me a call."

Sherlock smiled politely and he asked: "I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?" Frankland grinned as he joked: "Oh, Mr Holmes, I would love to tell you – but then, of course, I'd have to kill you!" He laughed a little at his joke and John's lips curved. Marie didn't move and Sherlock replied flatly: "That would be tremendously ambitious of you."

Frankland looked a little sheepish but Sherlock continued: "Tell me about Doctor Stapleton." Frankland chuckled: "Never speak ill of a colleague." Sherlock picked up on that as he pointed out: "Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do."

Frankland conceded: "I _do_ seem to be, don't I?" Sherlock allowed it to end there as he replied: "I'll be in touch." He walked off, the other two following as Frankland nodded his goodbyes as he called after them: "Any time."

As soon as they were closer to the car, John asked: "So?" Sherlock feigned ignorance as he repeated: "So?" John asked: "What was all that about the rabbit?" Sherlock didn't reply as he simply flicked his collar up on his jacket and John scoffed as he said: "Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?"

Sherlock looked confused as he asked: "Do what?" John spelled it out for him: "You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool." He walked over to the car door while Sherlock looked confused.

Marie finally cracked a smile as she also walked over to the car door. "... I don't do that." Sherlock muttered in protest and John and Marie answered at the same time as they climbed into the car: "Yeah you do."


	22. Dewer's Hollow

They were almost at Henry's house when John said slowly: "So, the email from Kirsty – the, er, missing luminous rabbit." Sherlock explained for him: "Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation." John let that sink in before he said in disbelief: "She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark."

Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days." John repeated his question from earlier: "So ..." Sherlock explained: "So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

John paused as he let that sink in before he joked: "To be fair, that is quite a wide field." Marie laughed while Sherlock glanced at John puzzled. He then looked at Marie with the same questioning look and she just shook her head so he let it be.

They drove up the lane and turned the corner and they all blinked. A huge house, as big as a mansion really, greeted them.

They walked up to the door, and as Sherlock rang the doorbell, John and Marie looked around in amazement. The door opened fairly quickly and Henry peered out. "Hi." He greeted.

"Hi." John replied while Marie replied more slowly. Henry ushered them in: "Come in, come in." Sherlock walked into the house like he owned the place, examining all the well decorated rooms as he made his way into the living room.

Marie followed, also looking around, giving the place a cursory look-over. John was following much slower and he said slowly to Henry: "This is, uh ... Are you, um ... rich?" He finally asked bluntly and Henry looked a little surprised. He looked around a bit as he replied just as bluntly: "Yeah."

"Right." John muttered as Henry led the way into the kitchen and sitting room.

* * *

He gave them each a cup of coffee, Sherlock throwing in several lumps of sugar while John and Marie kept theirs with only milk. Henry was explaining a new discovery in his memories: "It's-it's a couple of words. It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty'..."

"Liberty." John repeated and Henry nodded. "'Liberty' and ... 'In'. It's just that." He indicated the milk. "Are you finished?" He asked and John just smiled in thanks. As Henry turned to put the milk away, John asked Sherlock and Marie quietly: "Mean anything to you?"

"'Liberty in death' – isn't that the expression? The only true freedom." Sherlock murmured while Marie whispered back: "It's too vague to be sure right now." They went quiet as Henry turned back to them with a deep sigh.

"What now, then?" He asked and John said, almost questioningly: "Sherlock's got a plan." Sherlock smiled as he replied brightly: "Yes." Marie sighed- she knew that smile. Henry looked surprised but relieved as he said: "Right." Sherlock began: "We take you back out onto the moor ..."

John looked up questioningly and Henry said slowly but determinedly: "Okay ..." Marie dropped her head into her hands as Sherlock finished: "... and see if anything attacks you." "I knew it." Marie groaned at the same time John turned and asked incredulously: "What?"

"That should bring things to a head." Sherlock said simply but Henry's face had whitened as he asked: "At night?" His voice and body began to tremble as he asked: "You want me to go out there at night?" Sherlock hummed in agreement and John asked sceptically: "That's your plan?"

He looked at Henry, who looked at him desperately. John muttered sarcastically: "Brilliant." Sherlock turned to him as he asked: "Got any better ideas?" John pointed out: "That's not a plan."

Sherlock snapped: "Listen, if there _is_ a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives." He turned back to Henry and gave the man a smile. Henry's face paled even further, if possible, and Marie groaned. _I have a really bad feeling about this._

* * *

That evening saw the group all walking into the moor, heading for Dewer's Hollow. The closer they got and the darker it became, the paler Henry got. By the time they reached the woods, it had become pitch dark and Henry's face had turned completely white. Marie assured him softly: "Don't worry. We've got you, I promise."

Unfortunately, he did not look convinced. There was a rustle and she turned to see John stopping to stare at something. She paused too, walking over to join him as he began to look into the trees. Marie also looked over to see a light blinking in the distance.

"Sher..." John turned only to see Sherlock and Henry were already gone. He asked Marie: "What does that look like to you?" She frowned as she replied slowly: "It looks like it could be morse…"

"Exactly." John muttered. He pulled out a pen and paper, writing down the signals while Marie watched the lights thoughtfully. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something didn't feel right about that light. It looked too… random, even for a signal.

John was muttering as he wrote the letters down: "U ... M ... Q ... R ... A. U, M, Q, R, A. Umqra?" He asked confusedly. He glanced at Marie but she was also frowning, not recognizing it. She shook her head and she shut his notebook as he called in a whisper: "Sherlock."

He walked off with Marie, looking for the pair that had gone on ahead. They had wandered a little around, John whispering Sherlock's name at intervals. Marie was frowning as she examined their surroundings, feeling very exposed without Sherlock. She held her torch tightly, whipping around as they suddenly heard a metallic thud.

John had also paused to turn to look in the direction the sound had come from. He moved and the sounds continued with every step they took. Marie stopped and looked around carefully, while John continued to creep forward. "John…" She said slowly.

"It's nothing." He called back. "Just water dropping on an old metal bin." She frowned- that was not water dripping on a metal bin. But she was distracted as there was a flutter and John whipped around quickly. As he did so, there was a howling in the distance, almost like a wolf but not.

"What?" He asked as the howling came again. "John, run!" Marie called sharply. She drew her gun that was stashed inside her jacket as John ran towards her. Once he was past her, she ran after him, glancing back as the howling came closer. It wasn't a wolf but it sounded similar enough, like a similar enough species… or an incredibly large dog.

John kept running away from the sounds, checking that Marie was behind him the entire way. He knew she was probably more capable of defending them than he was, being a highly trained killer but it went against every cell in his body to let her protect him.

Besides, Sherlock would kill him if he let anything happen to the girl- and to be honest, if that happened, John would let him. It was still harder for John to accept Marie was an assassin and not the sweet girl he'd come to know and love in a brotherly way.

The pair had jogged through a larger part of the woods when Marie spotted movement up ahead. "John, stop!" She ordered and he stopped immediately, spotting the same thing. He breathed as he recognized the two figures walking towards him and he picked up his pace again.

"Did you hear that?" John asked as he caught up to Henry and Sherlock. Marie had jogged after him, hiding her gun from Henry but the man was too distracted anyway as he muttered: "We saw it. We _saw_ it." Marie was surprised to see Sherlock looking increasingly agitated as he strode past them.

"No. I didn't see anything." Sherlock disagreed. Marie frowned as she walked beside him, taking in his face set in a angry yet anxious mask. Henry protested from behind: "What? What are you talking about?"

"I didn't. See. Anything." Sherlock bit out each word, and his tone left no room for disagreement. John glanced at Marie who looked back at him and Henry puzzled. She turned back to Sherlock as they walked back in silence.

* * *

Marie followed Sherlock back to the inn, worried about how shaken the man looked. John took Henry back to his house safely, telling Marie that he'd join her and Sherlock after he got blubbering and shaken Henry settled in for the night.

Sherlock never looked at Marie as he sat by the fire in the inn restaurant, ordering a strong brandy before lapsing into silence once more. Marie didn't order anything; she just sat beside his armchair as the man sat with his hands pressed together before his mouth, staring at the flames in deep thought. His lips were pursed into a thin line as he stared at the flames, unmoving except for when he took the occasional sip of his brandy.

She sat beside him silently, just watching him worriedly as she saw the deep uncertainty and fear in his eyes. They were eventually joined by John, who sat down in the opposite armchair as he reported on Henry's state: "Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He's manic, totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors."

Marie saw Sherlock's eyes flicker a little, the fear flitting across his face quickly before it was gone as he continued to stare at the fire. John continued obliviously: "And there isn't, though, is there? 'Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know. It'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works."

He sighed and when Sherlock showed no response, he added: "Er, listen. On the moor, Marie and I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it's Morse." Sherlock was beginning to twitch and Marie was alarmed for him.

John didn't notice as he pulled out his notebook and flipped through it, to read the code as he continued to talk: "Doesn't seem to make much sense. Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean anything ..." His voice faded as he saw Sherlock's face. Sherlock had closed his eyes and was seemingly trying to calm his nerves- although it could also look like disinterest, which was how John apparently interpreted it.

John sighed, closing his book. He tried to get Sherlock to talk, listing off: "So, okay, what have we got? We know there's footprints, 'cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something…" He trailed off again as Sherlock once again showed no response. Marie meanwhile was becoming incredibly alarmed. John tried again: "Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog."

"Henry's right." Sherlock spoke at last. Marie's concern increased at Sherlock's words while John asked patiently: "What?" Sherlock elaborated: "I saw it… too." John's face became slack as he asked incredulously: "What?"

"I saw it too, John." Sherlock repeated, and Marie reached over to him as they heard his voice shake. He flinched from her touch and she recoiled, a little hurt. John asked slowly, trying to understand: "Just ... just a minute. You saw what?"

"A hound," Sherlock turned to look John straight in the eye, his face cold in his effort to mask his fear, "out there in the Hollow." His mask began to crack as he bit out through clenched teeth, his whole face contorting with the effort to keep his fear suppressed: "A gigantic hound."

John smiled without mirth, trying not to let Sherlock's words shake him as he tried to find a different way to look at things. "Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay?" Sherlock was beginning to shake and John tried to say firmly: "Now you, of all people, can't just ..." As Sherlock drew in a shaky breath and clasped his hands before him once more, John gave up and he tried to say logically: "Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."

Sherlock turned to his friend as he said in a low voice: "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true." John paused to think through the statement before asking confusedly: "What does that mean?"

Sherlock however, ignored him; he had reached for his glass of brandy and he was looking down at his hand in disgust. He scoffed as he muttered: "Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid." He took another swig, looking at his hand disgustedly as his hand shook harder, the alcohol's effect not helping in steadily his grip.

"Sherlock?" John asked worriedly and Sherlock muttered: "Always been able to keep myself distant ..." he took another swig, "divorce myself from," he swallowed his drink, " _feelings_. But look, you see," he held up his shaking hand for John to witness, "body's betraying me."

"Interesting, yes?" He glared in disgust as he slammed his glass down. "Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment. It's what brought you down, isn't it." He suddenly addressed Marie, who blinked. John was alarmed as Sherlock spat at the brunette: "It's what made you fail in the end, isn't it? Sentiment, emotion, feelings?"

"Yeah, all right, Spock." John cut in firmly as Marie's eyes reflected some hurt while Sherlock looked away, twitching a little. "Just ... take it easy." John tried to sound calming and Sherlock glanced at him briefly before he took deep fortifying breaths and John continued: "You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up."

"Worked up?" Sherlock repeated quietly in disbelief, looking vaguely insulted. John continued: "It was dark and scary-" Sherlock snapped: "Me?! There's nothing wrong with me." Sherlock's voice held finality but then his whole body began to shake. John sighed as he watched his friend.

Sherlock was beginning to hyperventilate, his breathing becoming erratic. The man closed his eyes as he tried to control his body. Marie's eyes widened in worry and alarm; John mirrored her expression as he said softly: "Sherlock."

The curly-haired detective ignored them as he pressed his fingers to his temples and tried to focus his mind. But just as it seemed his breathing was calming down, his body began to shake once more. John said worriedly: "Sher-"

"There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand!" He shouted at them and Marie flinched while John fell silent. He then seemed to realize how loud he had been as he glanced around at the now quiet dining room. The other people quickly returned to their conversations as Sherlock glared at them.

He turned back to the pair as he said in a quieter voice. "You want me to prove it, yes?" John didn't reply, his face set in an angry scowl while Marie's face became blank. Sherlock didn't notice as he stared at the fire once more.

He was still shaking but he fired off: "We're looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. _Cherchez le chien_." He mocked and John's scowl deepened but Sherlock just snapped: "Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?"

He turned his and pointed at a couple eating not far from them. "How about them?" He asked as he pointed out the old woman sitting opposite the younger man. "The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer's yes." He turned back to the fire.

"Yes?" John repeated, and Sherlock snapped: "She's got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we're looking for." John sighed as he muttered: "Oh, Sherlock, for God's sake ..."  
Sherlock fired back: "Look at the jumper he's wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe it's because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money."

Sherlock glanced at the pair again as he pointed out: "He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economise on his own food." Sherlock turned back to the fire and John tried: "Well, maybe he's just not hungry."  
Marie folded her arms, knowing what Sherlock was going to say and knowing that this whole argument, which even on regular days would end with John getting angry, was going to end with John getting hurt, given Sherlock's current state.

Sure enough, Sherlock rattled off: "No, small plate. Starter." Sherlock spat, glancing back to point out: "He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry all right, and not well-off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes."

"'How d'you know she's his mother'?" Sherlock mimicked a mocking version of John and John turned away in anger. Sherlock ignored or didn't notice him as he continued: "Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother's more likely. Now, he _was_ a fisherman."

He glanced back again and John also looked as Sherlock pointed out: "Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They're all quite old now, which suggests he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help."

"'Widowed'?" Sherlock mimicked again before he snapped: "Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed but her jewellery's cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it – it's sentimental. Now, the dog."

John's face had dropped into a dark scowl the longer Sherlock went on but Sherlock was past caring as he spat: "Tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky."

"'How the hell do you know that, Sherlock'?" Marie was now folding her arms tightly under her chest in anger as John tensed. Sherlock just continued to rattle off: "Because she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that's not cheating, that's listening."

His words were coming quicker, and Sherlock was almost spitting at them furiously as he finished: "I use my senses, John, unlike some people," he said pointedly derisive as he glanced at John, "so you see, I _am_ fine, in fact I've never been better, so just _Leave. Me. Alone!"_

Sherlock sat glaring at John, and John just stared back at Sherlock wordlessly before he tried to get past the hurt as he muttered: "Yeah. Okay." He cleared his throat, and Marie looked at him with sad eyes as John repeated flatly: "Okay."

There was a beat of silence as Sherlock glared at the fire. John finally bit out: "And why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend."

"I don't have _friends_." Sherlock retorted. It felt like a slap in the face for both Marie and John. She coiled away, almost like it had hurt her physically while John just said flatly: "No. Wonder why?"

With that, John rose and made to leave. He paused though as he saw Marie's uncertain gaze and he looked between the girl and the stiff Sherlock. "And if I may, Marie," John said pointedly and Sherlock glanced at him. John ignored him as he addressed the girl: "I'd suggest you find someone better to care about. Someone who cares what you think and how you feel."

John looked at Sherlock pointedly and was satisfied to see the surprise on Sherlock's face as the man glanced at the silent brunette beside him. Marie just nodded stiffly once and John walked out of the inn, satisfied by the puzzled look on Sherlock's face that his point had been made.  
Marie meanwhile ignored Sherlock as she rose, heading for their room upstairs, leaving the man to stew in silence. Her silence didn't bother Sherlock- it was the blank look on her face, the perfect mask she wore when she was hiding her emotions. And she only brought out that mask around Sherlock when she was concealing her hurt because of him.

Sherlock sat for a moment longer before he stood abruptly. Ignoring the sudden dizziness as the adrenaline and alcohol gripped him, he ran after Marie, realization having hit at last.


	23. Relationships

Marie had just shut the door to the room and opened her carrier bag when Sherlock burst into the room. She glanced back at his noisy entrance but ignored him as she pulled out her nightclothes.

Sherlock shuffled a little as he closed the door warily, watching the silent woman as she continued about her business. "Marie-" he began and she cut him off as she said scornfully: "Oh, you remembered my name did you?"

He winced at the bite in her words, but tried again as he murmured: "Marie, I-" He flinched as she turned on him. Her eyes flashed angrily as she spat: "Get out." His heart stopped in that moment as he stared at her. "Marie-"

"Get out, go find John, and apologize." She thundered at him and Sherlock frowned. He stepped forward, grabbing her arms as he faced her. Her eyes narrowed at him dangerously but he ignored it as he demanded: "I will apologize. I know I was wrong. But why are you only angry about what I said to John?"

She looked at him pointedly, waiting. He continued to look confused so she sighed as she muttered: "Sometimes I forget you do have a part of you that's a sociopath." He just waited for her to continue so she explained it to him: "I'm also angry about what you said to me, and how you ignored me when I wanted to help you while you were in pain."

He started but she wasn't finished. "But I was more hurt than anything else. And I know you were just lashing out. But you can't hurt John like that. I can handle you being, well, you. But don't do that to John. And you still need to apologize." She added while Sherlock just stared at her.

He blinked slowly before he sighed: "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

She replied sharply: "You didn't do it with your charming personality, I can tell you that." She was surprised however when Sherlock ignored her jab and pulled her into a hug, digging his face into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her.

She blinked, unsure how to respond but then she felt him shaking. Her heart softened, and she wrapped her arms around Sherlock tightly, pulling him close and giving him the comfort he sought. He took several shaky breaths as he clutched her, and Marie stroked back soothingly.

"It's alright, Sherlock. We'll figure it out." She soothed him and he let her, allowing her warmth and her kind words to bathe him, just as he had rejected John's efforts to help. He murmured: "It was the first time I've been so afraid, that I've felt so much doubt. I've always trusted my senses and suddenly…" He trailed off and she just patted him reassuringly, staying silent and letting him pour everything out.

"I don't know what to think, and that scared me." Sherlock admitted at last. He was surprised when his body calmed and the awful clenching in his heart smoothed out at his admission. Marie felt it too in the way his body seemed to relax just slightly, and she pulled back to look at him. She saw his confused look and she whispered: "Feeling better?"

He nodded numbly, looking a little unsure. Marie smiled a little, placing a gentle hand against his cheek as she explained: "That's how feelings work, Sherlock. Yes, emotions can be destructive, limiting in some ways as they block our clearest vision. But, when we accept the feelings honestly and we let it wash through us- not over us and not trying to stop its flow- it can also be a powerful stimulant."

He gazed down at her thoughtfully. "Is that what you think?" He asked and she replied softly: "It's what I know. I've been a heartless killing machine before," he frowned, regretting his earlier temper tantrum at her but she just said gently, "and I've learnt to love again. When I compare that… I know I am far stronger now than I was then, when I didn't care for anything, not even the safety of my own body."

He looked down at her quietly and he asked in a small voice: "Forgive me?" She looked him in the eye, and saw his sorrow, his pain, his fear, and his sincere regret. She smiled as she nodded. His lips curved into an answering smile and he began to bend down towards her when she jerked back.

"But don't forget you have to apologize to John as well." She reminded him and he rolled his eyes a little. "You'd think I was dating John and not you." He grumbled and she shrugged.

"We both care about you, just as you care about us, even if you won't admit it sometimes. He's your friend, Sherlock and that's just what friends do." She added the word with a pointed look at him. He sighed as he murmured: "Fine, I'll tell him the truth about that, too. I meant it when I said I said I don't have _friends_. I only have one."

She wrinkled her nose as she pointed out: "That statement is a sad thing in and of itself."

He shrugged as he retorted: "Well, I have a good man for a friend and the most brilliant woman in the world as my girlfriend. I think that's good enough." She smiled as she murmured: "Mm, so I get to be in a different class from John? "

"Mm, very different." He pointed out as he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. "For instance," he kissed her again, pulling her closer against him, "I don't exactly want to do this with John."

She smiled as he kissed her again and she teased: "Are you sure? Mrs. Hudson will be so disappointed." "She'll live." He dismissed as he captured her lips once more. She kissed back a little before she drew away.

"This doesn't mean I'm not upset about earlier, because I am." She said pointedly and Sherlock replied swiftly: "Well then, I'll just have to fix that." He kissed her again, but she pulled back. A gleam had appeared in her eyes and her lips curved into an evil smile. Sherlock looked at her in alarm as she said in a low voice: "Hm, I think you should go find John."

She stepped out of his embrace, going to pick up her clothes and toiletries. Sherlock stood dumbfounded for a moment before he asked: "Sorry, what?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder and Sherlock was suddenly reminded that Marie was once a master spy. Her smile was that of a Cheshire cat as she teased him: "I'm saying, off you go. You're not allowed back in this room until you've apologized to John."

"Why?" He demanded childishly and she said slyly: "Because that is your punishment for pissing me off earlier." His mouth fell open a little but Marie just smiled angelically at him. He scowled and stopped out the room, Marie laughing behind him as he went.

Sherlock stormed back down into the pub, looking for John when he suddenly spotted Henry's therapist sitting alone at one of the tables. He paused, thought about what Marie had ordered, about John's preferences, about Marie, and the perfect apology popped into his head.

He quickly pulled out his phone and texted John to come and interview Henry's therapist. He could tell John was still angry, as his friend replied to Sherlock's texts as shortly as possible. When John asked why he should interview the woman, Sherlock grinned.

He snapped a quick photo of the therapist and sent it, knowing John would take that offer. He glanced one more time at the pretty doctor sitting alone, before heading back for the stairs. While he could appreciate the woman's beauty from a detached point of view, his heart only sped when he thought of his beautiful girlfriend upstairs.

Marie looked up in surprise from where she'd been sitting drying her hair on the bed as Sherlock walked in triumphantly. "Sherlock?" She asked, glancing at the clock to check that her senses weren't wrong and that he really had only been gone a total of maybe ten minutes.

"Sherlock, what-?" She began, turning to the man but he cut her off as he leaned across and kissed her. Her lips quirked in amusement when he pushed her down onto the bed, leaning over her as he continued to rain kisses on her. "Are you trying to kiss your way into forgiveness?" She murmured between his insistent kisses.

He smirked slightly against her lips as he replied: "I've done what you said- and I sent John a gift while I was at it, too." She raised her brows but decided Sherlock wouldn't lie about something like that. She kissed him back, and he declared: "Now to apologize to you. I'll keep you so occupied and make you so dazed, you'll forget you were ever angry."

"That's pretty ambitious." She teased him, but Sherlock suddenly became serious as he added softly: "And I'll make you feel so loved you won't ever doubt my love for you, even when I sometimes hurt you unintentionally." She blinked in surprise, before her face broke into a beautiful smile.

Sherlock's eyes lit up when he saw it and he celebrated the feeling by pulling her in for a passionate kiss. They melted into each other's embrace, and Sherlock silently thanked the stars that she'd forgiven him.

* * *

Marie lay with her head on Sherlock's chest as he lazily drew patterns on her shoulder. Her body ached, but in a good way, when Sherlock suddenly started speaking. "Hound…" he murmured thoughtfully and Marie lifted her head to look at him.

"It was an odd thing for Henry to call it, wasn't it?" She murmured and Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. He asked, thinking aloud: "What 'hound'? Surely he could have called it a wolf or a large dog, but why hound?"

She shrugged as she added slowly: "And he said that he sees the actual words in his dreams. Why?"

"No idea," Sherlock sighed, "but we'll figure it." He murmured as he held her tightly. Marie nodded, snuggling in closer on his chest as her eyes closed sleepily. She fell asleep on Sherlock's chest, and he watched her as his mind wandered, thinking about the case peacefully as he held her safely in his arms.

* * *

Sherlock had gone off to Henry's as soon as the sun came up. Marie had stayed behind in the inn, choosing to stay and shower since Sherlock had gone first. When she was done, she wandered into the lobby and was surprised to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Greg?" She asked, and he turned in surprise. "Oh, Rose-Marie. How are you?" He asked and she looked him up and down before sighing. "Sherlock's not here right now, he stepped out for a bit." She told the DI, who chortled.

"Nice to see you, too." He teased and she just rolled her eyes jokingly. He offered to buy her a drink so she followed him down to the pub area of the restaurant, although it was really because she wanted to see Sherlock's face when he found Lestrade had followed them here.

They'd been chatting in the pub for some time when she heard Sherlock's voice from outside as he walked down the road: "Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others." She wrinkled her nose and she heard John say indignantly: "Hang on – you were saying 'Sorry' a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on: what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

There was a pause and John questioned: "Yeah?" Lestrade and Marie peered out the door to see that Sherlock and John had stopped right outside the pub, and Sherlock was showing something to John that he'd written in his notebook. Sherlock explained to John: "But what if it's not a word? What if it is individual letters?"

Marie thought about what they could be talking about, and it suddenly hit her as John was asking: "You think it's an acronym?"

Sherlock replied: "Absolutely no idea but…" he trailed off as he started to turn around and happened to see inside the pub. Lestrade smirked back while Marie twiddled her fingers at Sherlock in greeting, enjoying the look of disgust that appeared on Sherlock's face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded irritably as he stalked into the pub, John following with a surprised look on his face. Marie smiled, recognizing that while Sherlock was slightly irritated, he was still pleased to see Lestrade. Sherlock was wrong- he had more friends. Unfortunately, his friends usually didn't know he felt that. Like now for instance.

Lestrade grumbled: "Well, nice to see you too. I'm on holiday, would you believe?" Sherlock retorted angrily: "No, I wouldn't."

Lestrade just ignored him as he greeted John tiredly: "Hullo, John." John nodded in greeting as he caught up, saying friendily: "Greg!"

Marie saw Sherlock frown slightly, but they were distracted as Lestrade explained: "I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?" The DI teased with a grin, and Sherlock just retorted: "I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?"

"I've told you: I'm on holiday." Lestrade tried to argue and Sherlock snapped, annoyed: "You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just _back_ from your 'holidays'."

John grimaced a little while Marie laughed aloud. Lestrade just shrugged as he tried: "Yeah, well I fancied another one." A look of realization came onto Sherlock's face and he groaned: "Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"

John looked surprised as Lestrade tried to protest: "No, look ..." Sherlock interrupted as he said disdainfully: "Of _course_ it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to, to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself 'Greg'?" He asked Lestrade.

Marie burst out laughing while John looked confused. "That's his name." John pointed out and Sherlock asked in surprise: "Is it?"

Marie was still giggling as Lestrade said monotonously: "Yes, if you'd ever bothered to find out." Marie just smiled, patting Lestrade's arm. The man glanced at her as she just smiled warmly at him. Lestrade's face softened and he turned back to Sherlock as he retorted: "Look, I'm not your handler... and I don't just do what your brother tells me." He said petulantly and Marie rolled her eyes.

 _Why are all the men around me such children?_ She wondered wryly, when John suddenly piped up: "Actually, you could be just the man we want."

They all looked at him in surprise and Sherlock asked: "Why?"

John said pointedly: "Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock." John began to dig in his pocket as he explained: "I think I might have found something. Here." He pulled out a receipt he'd tucked away and he showed it to Sherlock as he said: "Didn't know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

"Excellent." Sherlock murmured as he took the receipt from John. Marie walked over to peer at the receipt as well as John said with a pointed look at Lestrade: "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."

John rang the bell on the pub counter as he called: "Shop!"

* * *

Lestrade sat looking through the restaurant's account and receipt books while the two owners sat nearby anxiously. Sherlock was in the kitchen brewing some coffee while John and Marie stood to the side, watching Lestrade and the nervous glances the restaurant owners kept sharing.

Sherlock walked over, carrying a cup of coffee and holding it out to John. Both Marie and looked at the man in surprise and John asked: "What's this?"

"Coffee. I made coffee." Sherlock murmured, and John and Marie stared at him in shock. John pointed out: "You _never_ make coffee." Sherlock looked offended as he retorted: "I just did. Don't you want it?"

"You don't have to keep apologising." John said in exasperation and Sherlock turned his head with a disappointed sigh. Marie furrowed her brows as she watched Sherlock while John immediately caved and took the cup of coffee, feeling guilty.

"Thanks." He muttered and Sherlock smiled. Marie raised her brows questioningly, especially as she watched Sherlock examine John intently as the man sipped on the coffee. John's brow wrinkled a little and he lowered the cup, saying with his lips slightly puckered: "Mm. I don't take sugar ..."

Sherlock gave another disappointed sigh, and John immediately looked guilty again. He glanced at Sherlock before just silently drinking the coffee. Sherlock beamed as he watched John swallow intently and Marie's brows furrowed once more. _What was he doing?_

They were interrupted as Lestrade finally finished reading the books and said: "These records go back nearly two months." John muttered to Sherlock as he replaced his cup on its saucer: "That's nice. That's good." Marie was confused but she let it go as they turned to Lestrade who was saying to the owners: "Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?"

The younger man, Billy Marie recalled, quickly said: "It's me. It was me." Marie's brows lifted as Billy tried to cover with lies: "I'm sorry, Gary – I couldn't help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal's wedding," Lestrade rolled his eyes while Sherlock smirked, "and one thing just led to another ..."

"Nice try." Lestrade interrupted dryly. Billy's shoulders dropped while the older man, Gary sighed and explained: "Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? A great big dog run wild up on the moor – it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster."

"Where do you keep it?" Lestrade asked flatly and Gary lowered his head as he said quietly: "There's an old mineshaft. It's not too far. It was alright there." Marie's brows furrowed but Sherlock was quicker as he repeated questioningly: "'Was'?"

Gary sighed as he explained: "We couldn't control the bloody thing. It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er ..." John's arms unfolded and he stepped forward, frowning as Gary trailed off, "you know."

"It's dead?" John asked and Gary flinched a little. He nodded as he corrected: "Put down." Billy chimed in, flatly: "Yeah. No choice. So it's over." Gary sighed again and he pleaded to Lestrade: "It was just a joke, you know?" Marie's face blanked as her eyes flashed angrily.

"Yeah, hilarious." Lestrade spat. He stood in disgust as he accused disdainfully: "You've nearly driven a man out of his mind." Lestrade walked out, repulsed and John followed. Sherlock followed after a pause, while Marie watched the men with narrowed eyes. She read their body language before she turned and followed the others out.

She joined them as Lestrade was asking Sherlock: "So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?" Sherlock replied shortly: "No reason not to." Marie pursed her lips in disagreement. Sherlock noticed but didn't comment as Lestrade huffed: "Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway. I'll have a word with the local Force."

With that, he nodded as he said: "Right, that's that, then. Catch you later." He paused before saying with a grin: "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs." He walked off cheerily. As soon as Lestrade was out of earshot, John turned to Sherlock, asking disbelievingly: "So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?"

"Looks like it." Sherlock muttered thoughtfully before turning to Marie. "What is it?" He asked, and John looked at the girl in surprise. He hadn't noticed anything wrong but now he saw the subtle lines of unhappiness on the girl's face as she explained: "They were lying. They didn't take the dog to the vet to have it put down."

John frowned while Sherlock questioned: "You're sure?" She nodded and John asked: "How do you know?" She looked at him as she reminded him: "I've been highly trained in reading people. I know a lie when I see one."

Sherlock muttered: "It's not important for now, anyways." Marie nodded, conceding while John said in disbelief: "How is it not important? If they're still keeping the dog-" "No," Marie interrupted, "they lost the dog- that much was true. My guess is the dog managed to escape; that's why they lied about having killed it. But they don't have it anymore."

John nodded thoughtfully, before he asked Sherlock: "And that wasn't what you saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog." Sherlock murmured: "No. It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing."

John's face became thoughtful while Marie frowned. Sherlock's eyes were narrowed in thought and he abruptly began to walk off as he said: "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it." He pulled out his phone as the other two followed after him.

"How?" John asked. "Can't pull off the ID trick again." Sherlock pressed a button on his phone and lifted it to his ear as he replied: "Might not have to." Marie's brows shot up.

Sure enough, when the other person picked up Sherlock said in sickeningly sweet voice: "Hello, brother dear. How _are_ you?" John rolled his eyes in exasperation while Marie's nose wrinkled but she was suppressing a smile as they walked to their car.


	24. HOUND

They were back at Baskerville. Sherlock was meeting with Major Barrymore first to get his final approval for their negotiated admittance. It wasn't like Barrymore could really refuse Mycroft, but Sherlock decided it was probably best to meet the man and prevent him from following them angrily around the whole time.

Marie had gone on ahead to the security room, checking the surveillance cameras while John went off to look for signs of the hound in the labs, as Sherlock had ordered them to. She was reviewing some of the tapes while watching the live feeds when she spotted John going into a restricted lab in the genetic manipulations sector.

She glanced up as the door opened and Sherlock walked in. "So, you want to tell me what this is really about?" She asked and he looked at her with feigned surprise. "What do you mean?" He asked innocently and her eyes narrowed.

"Don't give me that, you've been acting weirdly since earlier with the coffee. How come you want John to be on his own in the labs?" She asked and he grinned. "I love it when you're brilliant." He stated and she rolled her eyes.

"Don't try to distract me with flattery." She threatened and he conceded as he explained: "I needed to test my theory, and this was the only way." She examined him and then asked flatly: "What did you do?" Before he could reply she groaned, dropping her head into her hands as she muttered: "Of course. The sugar."

He beamed and she glared at him. "This is cruel." She told him and he shrugged. "If it helps solve the case." She narrowed her eyes as she scoffed: "So, you'd do it to me?"

He muttered something as he turned away and began to set up his trap in the lab next door to the one John was currently snooping around in, which was also incidentally right next to the security room Marie and Sherlock were stationed in.

"What was that?" She demanded and he sighed. Sherlock glanced at her before he murmured: "No." She said tightly: "That wasn't what you said."

He sighed and lifted his head. He then turned and looked her in the eye as he repeated: "No, because you would never forgive me."

She wrinkled her nose but conceded, and she dropped the subject as John walked into the abandoned lab that Sherlock had just rigged. It was too late to help John now, and Sherlock was right- they needed to figure out this case soon.

She watched as Sherlock began to overload John's senses, blasting bright lights and setting off the blaring alarm to daze and confuse the blond man. He also locked the lab down, over-riding John's security card to keep him inside the lab. Marie watched as John reacted, wincing and starting to twitch anxiously as his card continued to deny him from exiting.

Sherlock shut all the lights and sound down, and Marie watched John reel a little, his senses probably incredibly sensitive at this moment. Sherlock then began to play creepy sounds, starting with a metal clanging. Marie watched as John cautiously checked under the sheets of each cage, his posture becoming tenser and tenser.

She saw him suddenly stiffen as he came to the last cage, which was propped just slightly open as Sherlock had undoubtedly ordered to be prepared before he came here. Marie sighed as Sherlock began to play a recording of a dog growling and John flinched on the screen.

"I hate you sometimes." She muttered as she saw John moving to the doors, trying to get out. Sherlock retorted: "But you love me in the end." Marie pursed her lips and she mumbled: "John won't after this." Sherlock chose to ignore that as his phone rang. He glanced at it to see it was John, and didn't answer.

"You are so lucky I love you." Marie snapped and he sighed. "Please, Marie, I need to focus." He implored. She frowned, her lips pursing as they watched John run for the cage, bolting inside as he hid in terror. Sherlock decided it was time and he picked up his phone, dialling John's number.

John picked up immediately, and Marie frowned unhappily as John's ragged breathing came over the phone as he whispered urgently: "It's here. It's in here with me."

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked and John begged quietly: "Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab: the first lab that we saw." Sherlock played another growl and John moaned in fear. Marie was glaring at Sherlock but he ignored her as he asked with fake concern: "John? John?"

"Now, Sherlock. _Please_." John begged, and Sherlock said soothingly: "All right, I'll find you. Keep talking." John whispered urgently: "I can't. It'll hear me."

Sherlock began testing his theory as he ordered: "Keep talking. What are you seeing?" When there was no reply, Sherlock frowned in frustration but called in a fake concerned voice: "John?"

"Yes, I'm here." John whispered and Sherlock repeated: "What can you see?" John's voice was desperate as he replied: "I don't know. I don't know, but I can hear it, though." Sherlock played the growl again, and John asked in a panicked voice: "Did you hear that?"

Sherlock soothed: "Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?" When John didn't reply Sherlock repeated in frustration: "Can you _see_ it?" John replied darkly: "No. I can't..." Sherlock frowned and he played the growling louder, making it sound as though it was getting closer.

Sure enough, John's reply came as he said in a resigned voice: "I can see it." That was all Sherlock needed and he got up, grabbing Marie as he left the security room. John continued in that same resigned tone, as though accepting his fate: "I can see it. It's here."

They walked into the lab, and Sherlock pulled off the sheet covering John's cage. His features were schooled into a look of concern touched with panic as he peered at John and asked worriedly: "Are you all right?" Marie stood a little back, not wanting to pretend but staying out of sight so Sherlock could grill John, knowing John couldn't get suspicious yet.

"John ..." Sherlock asked as he pulled open the cage and John said frantically, completely terrified: "Jesus Christ ... It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must ... It must ... Did ... did ... did you see it? You _must_ have!"

Sherlock raised his hands calmingly as he said in a soothing voice: "It's all right. It's okay now…" John yelled and Marie jumped: "No it's NOT! It's not okay! I saw it, I was wrong!" Sherlock's face gave nothing away but Marie could see the glimmer of satisfaction in his ice-blue eyes.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions." Sherlock replied and John retorted: "What?" Sherlock asked calmly: "What did you see?" John threw his hands up in frustration, his breathing still heavy as the adrenaline still coursed through him, fear still gripping his heart as he replied: "I told you: I saw the hound."

"Huge. Red eyes?" Sherlock checked and John said frantically: "Yes." "Glowing?" Sherlock asked and John nodded as he replied: "Yeah." Sherlock smirked and he shook his head as he said: "No."

"What?" John demanded and Sherlock explained: "I made up the bit about glowing." John stared at him in disbelief and Sherlock told him: "You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have _all_ been drugged."

John was staggering a little in shock as he asked: "Drugged?" "Well, all of us except Marie." Sherlock amended, and John repeated: "What?" He glanced at Marie who was making an unhappy face but he turned back to Sherlock as the dark-haired man asked: "Can you walk?"

John replied tersely: "'Course I can walk." Sherlock ordered: "Come on, then. It's time to lay this ghost." He walked off and John turned to Marie. "What is he going on about?" He asked and Marie just made another face as she muttered: "I'll let him explain it to you later."

She took John's arm and led him after Sherlock. She walked with John, calming his shaken nerves even as the good doctor tried not to show how afraid he was.

* * *

Marie and John followed Sherlock into a lab to see Stapleton working over a rabbit. The woman looked up at their entrance and she asked scornfully: "Oh. Back again? What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder," Sherlock replied, "Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder." He switched off the lights to the lab and they saw the rabbit before Stapleton glow a bright yellow. Sherlock flicked the lights back on, his point made as he asked: "Will _you_ tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?"

Stapleton folded her lips angrily but she knew when she'd lost. "Okay. What do you want?" She asked defeatedly and Sherlock immediately asked: "Can I borrow your microscope?"

* * *

Sherlock split the sugar he'd packed and had Marie run tests on one half while he ran other tests on the other half. They were both testing for anything strange but Marie was coming up empty. From the increasing look of frustration on Sherlock's face, he wasn't making any progress either.

John and Stapleton were standing to the side of the lab, when Stapleton suddenly said to John: "Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Sherlock glanced up, momentarily distracted. "You look very peaky." Stapleton explained and Sherlock focused back on his work, uninterested.

"No, I'm all right." John murmured. There was another silence when Stapleton suddenly piped up: "It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you're interested." John looked at her confused. "What?" He asked and she explained: "In the rabbits."

"Mmm, right, yes." John said politely and Stapleton added: "Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know." Marie looked up this time, looking at the woman with interest. This woman was clearly a fanatic about her field, and Marie was interested in how she felt about Baskerville policies.

John's face showed he clearly didn't approve of it as he asked: "Why?" Stapleton shrugged as she returned: "Why not? We don't ask questions like that here. It isn't done. It was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go."

Marie listened with interest, while John said dryly: "Your compassion's overwhelming." Stapleton chuckled as she admitted: "I know. I hate myself sometimes." Marie signalled to John with her eyes and he understood.

He asked Stapleton: "So, come on then. You can trust me, I'm a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?" He encouraged and Stapleton sighed as she answered: "Listen, if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of _course_ they are."

John snorted a little, rubbing his forehead at that in disgust. "And cloning?" He asked and Stapleton replied: "Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?" John elaborated: "Human cloning?" Stapleton shrugged as she replied: "Why not?"

John cleared his throat as he asked: "What about animals? Not sheep," he added as Stapleton looked at him, "big animals." Stapleton shrugged again as she replied: "Size isn't a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be ... very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville."

Sherlock suddenly stood and abruptly threw his dish at the wall. "It's not there!" He said in frustration while John and Stapleton jumped as they stared at the shattered glass. Marie frowned while John yelled: "Jesus!"

"Nothing there! Doesn't make any sense." Sherlock snarled as he paced and Stapleton retorted: "What were you expecting to find?" Sherlock glared at her as he spat: "A drug, of course. It has to be a drug. A hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar."

He looked at Marie who shook her head. He scoffed and continued to pace agitated, while John asked flatly: "Sugar?" Sherlock snapped: "The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster."

Stapleton blinked but Sherlock just continued: "But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too but you two didn't, John."

He pointed at John and Marie and he continued as he paced: "You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you two don't take sugar in your coffee."

John said slowly: "I see. So...?" Sherlock explained: "I took it from Henry's kitchen; his sugar." He looked at the microscope again and he leaned back dejectedly as he muttered: "It's perfectly all right."

"But maybe it's not a drug." John pointed out but Sherlock argued: "No, it _has_ to be a drug." Marie walked over to place a hand on John's shoulder, warning him to stay silent so that Sherlock could think. Sherlock was muttering: "But how did it get into our systems. _How?_ There has to be something ... something ... ah, something ..."

Sherlock paused in thought and he murmured: "Something buried deep." Marie knew he was on the verge of remembering and she knew what that would mean. Sure enough, he suddenly turned to them and he ordered coldly: "Get out."

John blinked and Stapleton asked dumbly: "What?" Sherlock repeated: "Get out. I need to go to my mind palace." John sighed while Stapleton asked: "Your what?" John stuttered as he tried to come up with an explanation but Sherlock was already falling into thought so he gave up and told the woman: "He's not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go."

"Not Marie- stay here." Sherlock suddenly said and they all looked at him in surprise. "Please." He added and John raised his brows. John looked at the girl but she just shrugged so he nodded and gestured to Stapleton that they should leave. They began to leave while Marie walked over to Sherlock.

"His what?" Stapleton was asking as the two left, and John sighed as he tried to explained: "Oh, his 'mind palace'. It's a memory technique – a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location – it doesn't have to be a real place – and then you deposit memories there that ... Theoretically, you can never forget anything; all you have to do is find your way back to it…"

They left and Marie stood before Sherlock. He pulled her onto his lap as he sat beside the lab counter, holding her back against him. "You sure I won't distract you?" She asked quietly and he murmured: "No. I'll think better knowing you're safe in my arms than without you."

She raised a brow but didn't question any further as Sherlock fell into thought. She just sat there, leaning against him as his arms remained loosely around her waist. His hands twitched occasionally as he worked his way through his mind palace, occasionally jerking as he tossed aside some thought or the other.

Suddenly he jerked upright, his hands clenching on her stomach as his back straightened and Marie knew he'd found his answer.

* * *

It was extremely late by now and most of the labs were empty as Stapleton led them towards the main office where the main computer was held, with all the Baskerville information stored. As they stepped into the empty office, Sherlock ordered: "John."

"Yeah, I'm on it." John replied as he stood by the door, keeping a watch out. Sherlock muttered as Stapleton sat down at the computer: "Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana."

He walked over to peer over Stapleton's shoulder as she logged into the main frame. When the search bar came up, she glanced at him and he ordered: "H, O, U, N, D." She typed it in, and the computer ran a search only to come up with 'No Access: CIA classified'. There was a bar requiring an authentication code below and Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid." Stapleton murmured and John asked incredulously: "Well, there must be an override and password." Stapleton nodded as she explained: "I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's."

Sherlock walked over to the empty office attached to one side of the room, which Marie assumed must be Barrymore's. Sherlock muttered as he walked in and switched on the lights: "Password, password, password." The two women followed him in as Sherlock sat in the major's chair as he muttered: "He sat here when he thought it up."

He swivelled thoughtfully before saying to Stapleton: "Describe him to me." She replied confusedly: "You've seen him." Sherlock sighed in annoyance and Marie added hastily: "No, what he's like."

Stapleton listed: "Er, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez." Sherlock nodded thoughtfully as he muttered: "Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children's names as a password." He indicated a child's drawing on the wall which had the children's names written on it.

John joined them as Sherlock continued to think aloud: "He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what's at eye level?" He glanced around and listed: "Books. Jane's Defence Weekly – bound copies. Hannibal; Wellington; Rommel; Churchill's "History of the English-Speaking Peoples" – all four volumes."

Sherlock stood abruptly as he analysed: "Churchill – well, he's fond of Churchill. Copy of "The Downing Street Years"; one, two, three, four, five separate biographies of Thatcher. Mid 1980s at a guess." He glanced at a framed picture on the desk. "Father and son: Barrymore senior. Medals: Distinguished Service Order." Sherlock called over his shoulder.

John replied: "That date? I'd say Falklands veteran." Sherlock continued: "Right. So Thatcher's looking a more likely bet than Churchill." Sherlock walked back out, heading for the computer and Stapleton asked: "So that's the password?"

Sherlock scoffed: "No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do." He began to type into the code bar: 'Margaret'. "Maggie." Marie said quietly and he paused. Stapleton looked at the girl confused as Sherlock turned his head to her ever so slightly.

"What do you mean, 'Maggie'?" Stapleton asked but Sherlock just looked at Marie thoughtfully before turning back to the computer and typing in: 'Maggie'. The computer began to run the code and scan, and they waited impatiently.

Suddenly the computer beeped and it began to show all the results for their search. Sherlock and Marie leaned in, scanning all the information quickly as it continued to pop up. A picture with all the names of the members popped up and it was clear where the name of the project came from. Taking all the first letters of the scientists' names gave them…

"HOUND." Stapleton murmured breathlessly. The information continued, and the more they read, the more the others reared back in horror. "Jesus." John whispered while Marie's face became cold and her eyes narrowed in anger.

Sherlock muttered: "Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus; but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986."

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on." Stapleton whispered and Sherlock added: "And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane – made them almost uncontrollably aggressive." He trailed off and Marie's mind started to race. There was something niggling in her mind- something she had subconsciously picked up on- but what?

She was lost in thought as John was saying: "So someone's been doing it again – carrying on the experiments?" Sherlock murmured: "Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years." His eyes narrowed, also thinking hard as Stapleton muttered: "Who?"

Sherlock had pulled up the photograph of the scientists again and John indicated them as he asked her: "Those names mean anything to you?" Stapleton shook her head as she answered: "No, not a thing."

Marie was thinking back, trying to figure it out as Sherlock sighed: "Five principal scientists… twenty years ago." He began to zoom in on the faces as he muttered "Maybe our friend's somewhere in the back of the picture…"

It suddenly struck Marie. _Cell phone._ Sherlock was saying: "someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986…" Marie shoved in front of him and clicked the face she'd subconsciously picked out when the picture had flashed past the first time. Sherlock's eyes also widened as he realized what Marie had found.

Sherlock murmured: "Maybe somebody who says 'cell phone' because of time spent in America. You remember, John?" He asked and John's face became thoughtful as he remembered. "Mmm-hmm." He hummed while Stapleton looked confused.

Sherlock continued, his eyes becoming cold: "He gave us his number in case we needed him." Stapleton looked closer at the photo and she finally realized who it was as she gasped: "Oh my God. Bob Frankland."

She said shakily: "But Bob doesn't even work on ... I mean, he's a virologist. This was… chemical warfare." Sherlock said darkly: "It's where he started, though." Sherlock turned back to the photograph as he said in a low tone: "And he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work."

He paused and then added: "Nice of him to give us his number. Let's arrange a little meeting." He pulled out his phone and the business card. Marie frowned as she recalled something Sherlock had said earlier, which she'd missed at the time as she was lost in thought.

 _"_ _Prolonged exposure drove them insane – made them almost uncontrollably aggressive."_ John had stepped forward to stare at the screen when Marie gasped: "Henry." He glanced at her as Sherlock turned around to her, but John's phone suddenly rang.

John quickly pulled his phone out while Marie said to Sherlock urgently: "You said prolonged exposure made the victims uncontrollably aggressive." Sherlock's eyes widened while John picked up his phone and asked: "Hello?"

There was a woman's sob and John asked with a frown: "Who's this?" There was a pause and John told Sherlock and Marie: "It's Louise Mortimer." He asked into his phone: "Louise, what's wrong?"

Marie's stomach knotted and she and Sherlock exchanged worried glances as John listened. "What?" John asked, suddenly sounding alarmed and Sherlock immediately turned to his own phone as Marie gripped his coat tightly. They knew what must've happened.

"Where-where are you?" John asked urgently as Sherlock scrolled through his contacts, pausing as John hung up, saying: "Right: stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?" John turned to his friends and Sherlock asked sharply: "Henry?"

Marie's face was set grimly as John confirmed: "He's attacked her." "Gone?" Sherlock checked and John hummed in agreement. Sherlock punched the button on his phone as he muttered: "There's only one place he'll go to," he brought his phone up to his ear, "back to where it all started. Lestrade." He said sharply as the man answered, "Get to the Hollow. ... Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun."


	25. Trauma

The trio raced to the hollow, Sherlock's hands gripping the handle of the car tightly as he drove as fast as he dared. He pulled up as close to the woods as possible, and Marie and John darted out quickly, Sherlock following after he'd pulled the brakes on the car.

Marie had pulled out her gun as they ran to the Hollow, although she kept it tucked behind her back for now. John looked a little surprised but Sherlock didn't even glance at it as they raced through the woods. They arrived just as Henry was placing his pistol into his mouth.

"No, Henry, no! No!" Sherlock shouted as he skid down the hill into the Hollow. John and Marie flanked on each side of him and Marie's grip on her gun tightened as Henry waved his gun wildly, screaming as he flailed away from their torchlight: "Get back. Get – get away from me!"

John tried to calm the young man as he said soothingly: "Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax." He lifted his hand slowly, soothingly but Henry said shakily as he pointed his gun at them: "I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!" His voice returned to hysterical.

"Just put the gun down." John said, trying to calm the man but keeping his voice firm. "It's okay-" Henry shrieked: "No, no, I know what I am!" Sherlock said pacifyingly: "Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry. It's all been explained to you, hasn't it? Explained _very_ carefully."

John and Henry looked confused and Henry asked: "What?" Marie kept a tight grip on her gun as Sherlock explained in the same soothing but firm tone: "Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember."

Marie's grip tightened as Sherlock stepped forward slowly, imploring Henry: "Remember now, Henry. You've _got_ to remember what happened here when you were a little boy." Henry said in a broken voice: "I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought ... Oh Je... oh Jesus, I don't – _I don't know any more!"_

The man started to put the gun back in his mouth and John cried in alarm: "No, Henry! Henry, for God's sake!" Sherlock interjected hastily: "Henry, remember. 'Liberty In'." Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago."

Henry paused and Sherlock continued quickly: "You'd started to piece things together, remember what _really_ happened here that night." He paused and he prompted: "It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?" Henry paused, straightening up as he stared at Sherlock as Sherlock continued encouragingly: "Not a monster. A _man._ "

Henry's face slackened and Marie could see he was remembering the truth. She watched him carefully as Sherlock continued to explain: "You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called, having arrived. Sherlock glanced over as Lestrade clambered his way down to the Hollow while John said to Henry soothingly: "Okay, it's okay, mate."

John slowly walked forward, gently taking the gun from Henry's loose grasp. Marie relaxed just a little bit now that the gun was out of the half-mad man's grasp, but she was still tense as she glanced around. There was no way it would be this easy- Frankland would have wanted to ensure Henry was silenced.

Henry mumbled uncertainly: "But we saw it: the hound, last night." He looked at Sherlock as he pleaded: "We s... we, we, we _did_ , we saw..." Henry's voice broke and Sherlock nodded as he explained: "Yeah, but there _was_ a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog."

Henry's face contorted and he began to shake his head but Sherlock explained firmly: "We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works." He paused and when Henry looked uncertain Sherlock said softly: "But there never was any monster."

Of course, it was at that moment that a howl ripped through the air and something began to snarl above them. They all looked up, and John said in alarm as they all saw something prowling on the rocks right above them: "Sherlock..."

Sherlock staggered a little, fear gripping him but then Henry started to break down hysterically: "No. No, no, no, no!" Sherlock tried to calm the man, saying urgently: "Henry, Henry..." Marie's breathing quickened as she saw the gigantic shadow prowling above them. _This can't be happening._

"Sherlock..." John said urgently as Henry screamed: "No! No!" "Henry!" John tried to calm and Marie gasped as they saw the hound appear right above them, its eyes glowing red. Lestrade gasped: "Shit!"

John asked in confusion: "Greg, are you seeing this?" Sherlock looked around wildly as John said with forced calm: "Right: he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that?" As the creature snarled John yelled, all calm gone: " _What is it?!"_

Sherlock snapped, his nerves at their end: "All right! It's still here ... but it's just a dog. Henry!" Sherlock tried to convince the trembling man urgently: "It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!" At that moment the hound howled, and Lestrade cried as they all backed away: "Oh my _God._ "

The hound began to climb down the hill, snarling ferociously and Lestrade yelled: "Oh, Christ!" Suddenly they heard breathing behind them and Sherlock whipped around to see a man in a mask hiding in the shadows, hidden behind the fog.

Sherlock dashed over and pulled the mask off, but he staggered back as the face before him morphed into the smiling face of Moriarty. "No!" Sherlock cried as Marie's face also paled. She was glancing between the figure and the hound while Sherlock shouted, fighting with his own mind: "It's not you! _You're not here!_ "

He pulled the figure around and out of the fog to see it was Frankland, the man's hand clasped desperately over his mouth and nose. Sherlock breathed heavily and then realization hit him. "The fog." He muttered.

"What?" John asked and Sherlock shouted as he looked around at the thick fog that was always flooding the Hollow: "It's the fog! The drug: it's in the fog! Aerosol dispersal – that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it's the fog! A chemical minefield!"

At his words, Lestrade and John were trying to block their noses, while Marie was focused completely on the still snarling and growling hound before them. As it came closer, Frankland yelled in terror: "For God's sake, kill it! Kill it!"

The hound reared back, getting ready to hurl itself at them as it bared its teeth and snarled. Lestrade raised his gun and shot around the hound, and it didn't even flinch. It leapt. A shot sounded.

The hound fell in the corner, dead with a bullet straight to the heart. They all stood, breathing heavily. Lestrade looked confused as to where the shot had come from while John stared at the stone-faced Marie. Her face was completely white but her hand was steady as she lowered the gun. But it was the look in her eyes that cause John to step towards her in worry.

Sherlock glanced at her before he dashed over to Henry, dragging the man to the corpse as he ordered: "Look at it, Henry." Henry protested, trying to stay away as he whimpered: "No, no, no!"

Sherlock just shoved the man forward as he ordered: "Come on, look at it!" Henry stared as they all saw that it was an ordinary large black dog. Henry whispered: "It's just..." He turned abruptly to glare at Frankland as he spat: "You bastard. You _bastard!"_

He lunged at the man, tackling him to the ground as he screamed: "Twenty years!" John dashed to pull Henry back but the hysterical man gripped Frankland's jacket front tightly as he screamed: "Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!"

Sherlock and Lestrade moved to help John pull Henry away. John and Lestrade restrained Henry as Sherlock explained sharply: "Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet."

Sherlock pointed his torch at the man in disgust before he glanced around the Hollow, explaining: "A chemical minefield; pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here." Henry was finally calming down and John and Lestrade let him go wearily.

Sherlock spread his arms as he walked towards the centre of the Hollow, saying delightedly: "Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once. Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It's been brilliant."

"Sherlock ..." John muttered warningly. "What?" Sherlock asked as he turned back and John snapped: " _Timing._ " Sherlock glanced around, taking note of the blank look on Marie's face. He asked quietly: "Not good?" John grimaced but Henry suddenly piped up: "No, no, it… it's okay."

He stared at Frankland as he continued: "It's fine, because this means ... this means that my dad was _right._ " Henry stepped forward and John and Lestrade guarded him, but Henry didn't notice, too focused as he said with a breaking voice: "He found something out, didn't he, and that's why you'd killed him – because he was _right_ , and he'd found you right in the middle of an experiment."

Henry spat the word. Suddenly there was a growl behind them, and while all the men turned, Marie's eyes narrowed. Frankland had taken the opportunity to turn and run, and Marie ran after him in anger. Sherlock turned as Marie passed him, surprised and concerned.

"Marie?!" He asked and then saw where she was going and yelled: "Frankland! Frankland!" They all ran after the man as he fled, Marie gaining on him so quickly Sherlock and John worried Lestrade would notice something fishy. Thankfully- or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it- Lestrade was at the very back.

As Lestrade lagged a little, John yelled: "Come on, keep up!" Sherlock shouted: "It's no use, Frankland!" Frankland glanced back to see the silent brunette woman catching up right behind him. In a panic, he climbed a barbed fence, crashing down into a field. He scrambled upright and backed up as he stared back at the woman who'd stopped at the fence.

His foot pressed something and there was a metal click, and then a beeping sound that warned him about what he'd stepped on. He glanced down and took a shaky breath as he looked up at the silent figure standing by the fence. She was staring at him with cold eyes, and he almost didn't recognize her as the same woman he'd met before.

But as his breathing hitched, her face changed. She looked down at his foot and then slowly up at him. "I can get you off that safely." She said in a monotonous voice. Frankland stared at her but then looked behind her. Sherlock and John were just emerging from the woods and Frankland smiled wryly.

"Never." And he stepped off the mine. Marie didn't even flinch as the whole area exploded, knowing she was safely out of range. The men all flinched as they stopped just outside the woods, staring at the explosion. Henry leaned back against a tree in defeat while Lestrade turned away sadly.

John spotted the slight figure by the fence and he slid his eyes over to his flatmate. Sherlock's eyes had also zeroed in on the woman who stood watching the flames die down. John murmured to Lestrade: "Come on, let's get Henry home." Lestrade looked surprised but John led the two men away firmly before the DI could ask or look towards the brunette woman standing by the fence.

Sherlock moved to where Marie stood, stopping beside her. "He'd rather have died than be taken in to face his crimes." She said flatly and Sherlock hummed. "Are you alright?" He asked suddenly.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She asked without emotion. Sherlock turned to face her fully, looking down at her as he said sternly: "You just watched a man die before you." Marie's shoulder tensed a little but she replied flatly: "He's not the first, tenth, or even hundredth."

"He still died before you." Sherlock said quietly. She drew in a sharp breath but didn't move. He waited before he said quietly: "In the fog, when I pulled the mask off Frankland, I saw him. Moriarty." She tensed and Sherlock continued: "I know you saw the same thing."

She turned to him at last, tears shining in her eyes. Sherlock pulled her into a hug as she sobbed: "If I'd just shot him in the leg or something earlier, brought him down before, he'd still be alive. But I couldn't. I saw Jim's face and it was like I just shut down."

Her words came faster, almost running into each other in her agitation: "My body just took over because my mind couldn't work. And when it did, I chased an old man into a mine field, knowing I would come out fine. I chased him with the intent to kill. Is my natural instinct really to kill? Is that what I am, really?"

Her voice had become hysterical and Sherlock interrupted firmly, pulling back to look her straight in the eyes as he said: "No. You've been trained to react, habits beaten into you. That's why your body reacted the way it did, but Marie, you are not a killer."

"How-?" She began but Sherlock interrupted gently: "Because if you were, you would have shot him on the spot. Your heart chose to chase him, to bring him to justice. You couldn't shoot him because you didn't want to hurt him. And I'd bet that when he stepped on that mine, you wanted to save him."

A tear spilled over as Marie whispered: "Do you really believe that?" "Without a doubt." Sherlock replied. Marie took a shuddering breath, before she leaned her head into Sherlock's chest. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly as she began to cry, her tears flowing thick and fast.

Marie couldn't even remember the last time she'd felt so shaken to her core, the last time she had allowed herself to wail as she did now, sobbing her heart out. Sherlock just held her silently, rubbing soothing circles on her back as he rested his chin on her head, staring out at the minefield.

* * *

The next morning, John was sitting outside eating breakfast when Sherlock walked up, carrying two cups of coffee. As he sat down beside his flatmate, John asked quietly: "How is she?"

"She's better." Sherlock replied shortly. John nodded, glancing back at the inn where Marie was sleeping. He was worried but knew Sherlock would have taken care of the brunette, so he didn't question any further. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before John remembered something.

"Listen: what happened to me in the lab?" He asked and Sherlock glanced at him, then at his plate. "D'you want some sauce with that?" He asked abruptly, turning away to grab it and John mused: "I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."

Sherlock had turned back with the condiments basket, and he said dismissively as he looked through the basket: "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes," John nodded and turned away as Sherlock continued: "pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so ... Um, ketchup, was it, or brown ...?"

He tried to shift topics when John interrupted: "Hang on. You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced it was in the sugar." He looked at Sherlock who averted his eyes, before saying abruptly: "Better get going, actually. I'll fetch Marie." He checked his watch. "There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want ..."

John's face changed as realization dawned on him and he closed his eyes as he groaned: "Oh God. It was you." He looked at Sherlock as he sighed: "You locked me in that bloody lab."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as he said: "I had to. It was an experiment." John repeated incredulously: "An _experiment_?!" "Shh."Sherlock said uncomfortably and John lowered his voice but said just as angrily: "I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death."

Sherlock whispered his explanation quickly: "I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee," John sighed, "then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions – well, literally _._ "

John took a deep breath when another thing occurred to him. "Marie knew, didn't she?" He groaned and Sherlock muttered: "Maybe." John groaned: "Of course she did." Sherlock grimaced as he added: "But she only figured it out later, so don't blame her."

John sighed. "So that was why she looked so guilty and why she looked angry with you." He muttered and Sherlock explained: "Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one." John paused and Sherlock said wearily: "You know what I mean."

John grit his teeth before he started back on his breakfast as he muttered: "No, it was just because you love her." Sherlock stayed silent and John added: "And it wasn't _in_ the sugar." Sherlock shrugged as he said: "No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas."

"So you got it wrong." John said pointedly and Sherlock muttered sulkily: "No." John snorted as he said firmly: "You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it wrong." Sherlock conceded: "A bit."

He blinked before adding petulantly: "It won't happen again." John snorted again, and then paused. "Any long-term effects?" He asked and Sherlock replied: "None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will." He looked back at the inn, thinking about Marie.

John saw the worry in Sherlock's eyes and he joked to try and lift the other man's spirits: "Think I might have taken care of that already." Sherlock chuckled and John grinned as he went back to his breakfast.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly zeroed in on Gary, who nodded to Sherlock in greeting as he served a different table. Sherlock paused and then stood up abruptly. John looked at him, startled as he asked: "Where're you going?"

"Won't be a minute." Sherlock replied and then looked down at John. He smirked as he said: "Gotta see a man about a dog." John saw where Sherlock was headed and he snorted before turning back to his meal. Neither man was aware of Marie watching them from the windows, her phone against her ear as she listened to the man on the other end.

"I accept." She murmured as she watched Sherlock with sad eyes.


	26. The Reichenbach Fall

John P.O.V.

It was pouring rain as John sat in a seat he had never expected to return to. His therapist sat across from him calmly as she asked: "Why today?"

"Do you want to hear me say it?" John snapped and his therapist replied: "Eighteen months since our last appointment." She looked at him pointedly and John asked: "Do you read the papers?"

"Sometimes." His therapist replied and John added: "Mmm, and you watch telly?" She just watched him and he said finally: "You _know_ why I'm here. I'm here because ..." He broke off, closing his eyes in pain.

His therapist leaned forward as she prompted: "What happened, John?" John opened his eyes to stare at her and then he closed them again as he took a deep breath. He began: "Sher..." He broke off, unable to say the name as the pain threatened to tear his heart into pieces.

"You need to get it out." His therapist told him and John took another fortifying breath. He said slowly, his voice breaking as he barely managed to say the words: "My best friend ... Sherlock Holmes ... is dead."

* * *

 _Three months earlier_

"'Falls of the Reichenbach _'_ , Turner's masterpiece," the Gallery director was saying before the crowd of reporters, "thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

There was light applause and John nodded his head once in thanks as he stood beside his friend, both dressed in smart suits as they stood by the recovered painting before the crowd. Marie stood between the two men, also dressed in a fine dress but looking distinctly uncomfortable from all the attention.

The director produced a small box, handing it over to Sherlock as he said: "A small token of our gratitude." Sherlock took it and examined it with disinterest. "Diamond cufflinks." He muttered and added as he lowered the box: "All my cuffs have buttons."

"He means 'thank you'." John interrupted as the director looked a little offended and Sherlock asked in surprise: "Do I?" Marie sighed as John ordered: "Just say it." Sherlock sighed but said to the director: "Thank you."

He tried to walk off, but John stopped him, saying: "Hey." Marie tensed as the cameras all flashed, trying not grimace- otherwise it would end up in the papers. She usually tried to back out of these events, but Sherlock had insisted she come this time. He rarely did, only every fifth case or so when his patience wore thin and she was the only thing that would keep him sane.

After all, the last thing they needed was for Sherlock to have a fit before the cameras. Since John's blog became an internet phenomenon, more and more press was gathering around their cases. The Reichenbach case became the starting point, and the papers began to refer to Sherlock as 'The Reichenbach hero' amongst other names.

But while Marie chose to continually shy away from the attention, Sherlock began to accept it, stopping for his pictures and actually turning up for the thank you's, as with the Reichenbach director. No one commented, John just glad he didn't have to deal with Sherlock putting up a fuss anymore.

And so time went by.

One morning, Sherlock stormed into the living room with the morning paper as he spat: "'Boffin'. 'Boffin Sherlock Holmes'." He tossed the paper on the coffee table before John in disgust as he stalked about the room.

"Everybody gets one." John said soothingly as he reached for the papers while Marie just set her tea down on the desk as she read her book. "One what?" Sherlock asked as he paused beside Marie, leaning down to kiss the top of her head affectionately in greeeting.

Marie smiled at him, while John grinned at the pair. He didn't comment, just replying to Sherlock's question: "Tabloid nickname: 'SuBo'; 'Nasty Nick.' Shouldn't worry – I'll probably get one soon." John added and Sherlock muttered as he started to pace again: "Page five, column six, first sentence. Marie, column two, second sentence."

John looked surprised but turned to look while Sherlock picked up the deerstalker that Scotland Yard had gifted him with. According to Lestrade, everyone at the office had pitched in to buy it for him. Sherlock looked at it in disgust and he punched it as he asked: "Why is it always the hat photograph?"

"' _Bachelor_ John Watson'?" John read incredulously. Marie looked up from her book to watch the pair in amusement as Sherlock continued to examine the hat, asking: "What sort of hat is it anyway?"

"'Bachelor'? What the hell are they implying?" John asked, offended. Sherlock twirled the hat as he asked: "Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?" John interjected: "It's a deerstalker." He then returned to the paper an he read: "'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson'..."

Sherlock asked: "You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?" He tried it out, cocking his head as he swiped his arm in a throwing motion, watching the hat while John read angrily: "'.. _confirmed_ bachelor John Watson'!"

"Some sort of death frisbee?" Sherlock asked, completely ignoring John as he made another swiping motion. Marie laughed and John said: "I wouldn't laugh Marie. You're supposedly 'Mysterious muse Rose-Marie'." She blanched as she asked: "What?"

She walked over to read it with her own eyes as John said firmly: "Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful." Sherlock was still examining the hat as he muttered: "It's got flaps…"

He grabbed the offending parts while Marie read incredulously: "The detective's mysterious muse, Rose-Marie Jones?" Sherlock muttered in disgust: "Ear flaps. It's an _ear_ hat, John." He tossed the hat at John, making it fly literally like a frisbee.

"Since when was I Sherlock's object?" Marie was asking indignantly as she looked up. Both she and Sherlock stared at John, who was staring at them in disbelief. Sherlock processed John's words and he asked: "What do you mean, 'more careful'?"

"I mean," John explained as he held up the hat, "this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat." Marie winced as John continued, agitated: "I mean, that you're not exactly a private detective any more. You're this far from famous." He held up his two fingers, making a small space between them to illustrate his point.

Sherlock sighed as he muttered: "Oh, it'll pass." He settled into his armchair, curling up inside his dressing gown while John said sternly: "It'd better pass. The press _will_ turn, Sherlock." John warned when he saw how disinterested Sherlock was. "They always turn, and they'll turn on _you_." He turned to the brunette beside him, imploring: "Marie, back me up here."

She sighed as she said: "John's right, Sherlock. The noise around us is getting a little too loud." Sherlock however, was focusing on John, examining him as he said: "It really bothers you." John glanced at Marie, who shrugged.

"What?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock, who elaborated: "What people say." John frowned as he said as though it obvious: "Yes." Sherlock asked: "About me. I don't understand. Why would it upset _you_?"

John looked at Sherlock blankly before he gave up, and he suggested: "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news." John turned back to his paper and Sherlock turned away, a small frown on his face. Marie saw it, but didn't comment. _Not yet._

* * *

It was about 11am on another regular day when John came out of his shower. Sherlock was working on something with his microscope in the kitchen and Marie was out at work. She'd be home in the next few minutes though, so John wasn't too worried about Sherlock becoming too bored.

Sherlock's phone beeped but the man didn't move. John pointed out as he passed: "It's your phone." Sherlock replied: "Mm. Keeps doing that." John just shrugged it off as he walked to the living room, glancing at the figure hanging by his neck from the rafters.

"So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?" He asked as he sat in his armchair, and Sherlock looked up questioningly. "Oh." He saw the mannequin dangling in the air and dismissed: "Henry Fishgard never committed suicide. Bow Street Runners," Sherlock slammed a book shut, "missed everything."

John looked up briefly as he heard the book snap shut and asked as he turned back to his paper: "Pressing case, is it?" Sherlock replied dully: "They're all pressing 'til they're solved."

Sherlock's phone dinged again. John sighed as Sherlock still made no move to get it. "I'll get it, shall I?" He said as he got up and opened the text message. As soon as he saw it, his face fell.

He turned grimly, and walked to Sherlock, holding out the phone as he said: "Here." Sherlock didn't even glance at him as he replied shortly: "Not now, I'm busy." John heaved a sigh and he said as he closed his eyes in irritation: "Sherlock."

"Not now." Sherlock shot back irritably but John just said flatly: "He's back." At John's words, Sherlock paused. He slowly lifted his head, looking at John and then the phone. He took it quickly, and read the text, his face becoming serious.

'Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty x.' It read. His hand tightened on the phone and Sherlock asked: "Where's Marie?" John shook his head tersely and Sherlock stood up abruptly, knocking over test tubes in his haste.

"Sherlock." John began as the man strode out of the kitchen but they both paused as they heard the front door shut. Light footsteps sounded and Sherlock relaxed immediately while John sighed in relief as the brunette woman appeared on the landing.

"Hi, John…" She trailed off immediately as she looked at their faces. She walked over to Sherlock quickly. "It's him, isn't it?" She asked and Sherlock nodded as he handed her his phone. She read it quickly and pursed her lips but otherwise remained silent as Sherlock walked out to get his scarf and coat. John left to fetch his coat, and as soon as he did, Marie and Sherlock exchanged a long look before Sherlock took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

* * *

"That glass is tougher than anything." Lestrade said tersely, but Sherlock replied flatly: "Not tougher than crystallised carbon." They were at the Tower and watching the CCTV footage of the incident.

"He used a diamond." Sherlock murmured and Marie watched in silence as the camera showed the back of Moriarty's head as he stuck the diamond on the glass casing around the Crown Jewels. She watched as he waltzed his way over to a fire extinguisher, and then danced his way back to the glass, before thrusting the canister onto the diamond, causing the glass to shatter and come crashing down.

Lestrade stopped the footage and switched on another one that was filming from the other side of the room. Marie barely noticed the smug look on Moriarty's face, her eye catching the writing on the glass right as it shattered.

Lestrade rewinded a bit, pausing the footage to the moment right before Moriarty shoved the fire extinguisher onto the diamond. They sat staring at the message he'd spray painted on the glass: 'Get Sherlock'. Marie's lips folded in anger as she stared at the smiley face the monster had drawn inside the 'O' in Sherlock's name.

John glanced at Sherlock in concern but the consulting detective's eyes had simply narrowed; there was no surprise on his face as he stared intently at the message. After a moment, Sherlock stood up and turned to leave when Lestrade said quietly: "That's not all."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the DI and Lestrade's face was set grimly as he told them: "That man managed to break into the Tower, Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England, all at exactly 11am this morning."

Sherlock slowly turned to face Lestrade while John frowned. Marie had tensed and she was looking at Sherlock but he was focused solely on Lestrade. John asked in disbelief: "How?"

Lestrade pointed out: "That's the question I want answered." Sherlock stared at the DI in silence, his face becoming thoughtful before he turned and simply walked out. John grimaced but followed. Lestrade sighed, glancing at Marie.

He started as he saw the emotionless look on the woman's face as she walked out just as silently as the other two. Lestrade shivered- he wasn't sure why, because there had been no emotion at all on the brunette's face, but for a second, he had felt a fear settle in the pit of his stomach. Or maybe it was because it had been so empty, so cold. The DI had seen all kinds of people in his field, and he realized that what had scared him about Rose-Marie in that moment had been that empty look in her eyes.

He'd only seen those eyes on one type of person: a killer.


	27. I O U

Sherlock fixed his suit jacket as John tied his tie before the mirror. Sherlock had been called in as an expert witness at Moriarty's trial, and John and Marie were going with him for moral support. At least, that was what people thought- in reality, they were going to watch Moriarty and test Sherlock's theory.

As the boys finished straightening their jackets, Marie walked out of her shared bedroom with Sherlock. She was dressed in a smart suit, paired with black heels. She stopped before Sherlock, tucking his jacket and shirt neatly and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

The trio walked down the stairs in silence, and Sherlock stopped at the front door. Marie stood right beside him as John grabbed the doorknob. He turned to them and asked: "Ready?" Marie gave a curt nod while Sherlock murmured shortly: "Yes."

John pulled open the door and immediately cameras flashed while reporters shouted questions. Thankfully, the police were keeping all of them at bay so the trio could walk into the police car quickly. Sherlock opened the door and quickly gestured for Marie to get in first.

She slid in and Sherlock followed suit while John got in on the other side. They sat in silence as the car drove them to the court, and John piped up: "Remember…" Sherlock interrupted shortly: "Yes."

John took a breath and tried again: "Remember..." Sherlock repeated testily: "Yes." Marie sighed while John said determinedly: Remember what they told you: don't try to be clever-"

"No." Sherlock said petulantly. John ignored him as he continued: "... and please, just keep it simple and brief." Sherlock muttered sarcastically: "God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent." John countered: "'Intelligent,' fine; let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth."

There was a moment's silence and then Sherlock muttered: "I'll just be myself." John demanded angrily: "Are you listening to me?" Sherlock just turned to look out the window like a sulky child while Marie sighed again. He glanced at her and then at their driver.

Sherlock subtly took Marie's hand in his, giving it a gently squeeze. Her eyes slid across to him but he just turned back to look out the window. They continued in silence, Sherlock and Marie gripping hands the whole way and only letting go as they pulled up outside the court.

* * *

John and Marie waited for Sherlock outside Court Ten. He'd gone to the loo, but he was taking longer than they were expecting. John kept checking his watch while Marie wondered what could possibly be keeping him.

They looked up as they heard footsteps and turned to see Sherlock returning from the washroom looking completely irritated and disgusted. Marie glanced at him and as he got closer, raised her brows. "Did you step into the wrong toilet," she asked and he looked at her irascibly, "or were you mobbed by a woman in the men's toilet?"

John looked surprised while Sherlock muttered: "It's not important. Although, I will be requiring your help later in dispelling that vile woman's perfume." Marie raised a brow but just nodded while John shook his head with a groan.

"Yeah, maybe focus Sherlock." John sighed. Sherlock glanced at Marie who just nodded encouragingly before she and John moved to the gallery while Sherlock took his place in the witness stand.

* * *

"A 'consulting criminal'." The prosecuting barrister was saying and Sherlock replied shortly: "Yes." The prosecutor continued: "Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

Sherlock replied flatly: "James Moriarty is for hire." The prosecutor turned to look at Moriarty as she asked: "A tradesman?" Sherlock replied testily: "Yes." The prosecutor added questioningly: "But not the sort who'd fix your heating?"

Sherlock replied dryly: "No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." Moriarty pulled a face, conceding. The prosecutor continued, beginning her line of questioning: "Would you describe him as..."

Marie rolled her eyes at the other woman's incompetence while Sherlock interrupted: "Leading." The prosecutor looked at him, startled, as she asked: "What?" Sherlock just went on: "Can't do that. You're leading the witness. He'll object," He nodded at the defendant's' attorney, "and the judge will uphold."

"Mr Holmes." The judge said tightly and Sherlock prompted the prosecutor: "Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him?" The prosecutor was staring at Sherlock, flabbergasted and Sherlock asked: "Do they not teach you this?"

John's face became grim as they watched, Marie rubbing her forehead tiredly. They glanced back as a woman entered the gallery, and while John just smiled at her politely, Marie glanced over, scanning her quickly and raising a brow. This woman must've been the one that had irritated Sherlock even before the trial.

She picked up on the amateur editor's signs, the ink smudge on her wrist that was a clear attempt to fool Sherlock. She returned her attention to the trial as the judge interjected: "Mr Holmes, we're fine without your help." The prosecutor amended: "How would you describe this man, his character?"

Sherlock smirked as he commented: "First mistake," he looked at the other man directly as he described: "James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider; a spider at the centre of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Moriarty nodded slowly, looking almost impressed with Sherlock's description. The two stared at one another, and the prosecutor cleared her throat, before starting: "And how long..." Marie groaned and John glanced at her in surprise but his attention returned to Sherlock who'd rolled his eyes as he muttered to the prosecutor: "No, no, don't-don't do that. That's really not a good question."

The prosecutor folded her lips in anger and the judge spat: "Mr Holmes." John sighed while Sherlock snapped in annoyance: "How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry." He told the prosecutor scornfully before he answered: "We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something."

He gave Moriarty a mocking look, which Moriarty returned although the criminal mastermind looked more amused. The judge asked incredulously: "Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

The prosecutor opened her mouth but Sherlock interjected: "Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample." The judge chided: "Mr Holmes, that's a matter for the jury." He indicated the jury and Sherlock asked scornfully: "Oh, really?"

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the jury and Marie muttered: "Uh, oh." John also knew what was coming, and he placed a hand against his temple, gently rubbing it as he felt a headache coming.

Sherlock began to list: "One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City. The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand." The judge said indignantly: "Mr Holmes!" But Sherlock ignored him as he continued flatly: "Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

He asked the judge. One of the jury glanced down at the subtle crumbs on his suit while the judge snapped: "Mr Holmes." John sighed while Marie's eyes narrowed The judge said sternly: "You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess." Sherlock glanced at the gallery, where John gave him a pointed look.

The judge continued: "Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt." Sherlock smirked a little as his eyes met Marie's and she rolled hers, but he quickly wiped it off as he saw John's disapproving look. The judge snarled: "Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes _without showing off_?"

* * *

John stood against the police desk with his arms folded angrily as he griped: "What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever'." Sherlock finished signing out his release forms as Marie waited patiently, she and John having just bailed Sherlock out after the judge ordered him removed from the trial five minutes after Sherlock's observations, having had enough with Sherlock's snide remarks.

Sherlock muttered now to John: "I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." He turned to John as he asked: "Well?" John asked puzzled: "Well what?" Sherlock pocketed his pen and Marie handed him a bag of crisps, which he took gratefully.

He elaborated as they walked out the holding centre: "You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

John sighed as he described the defendant lawyer: "Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred." Sherlock muttered as they walked out: "Moriarty's not mounting any defence."

They returned to 221 in silence, each lost in thought. John started to speak as they walked up the stairs to 221B, saying aloud: "Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why."

John sat down in his armchair while Sherlock placed his fingers over his mouth, pacing before John's chair. Marie sat in Sherlock's chair as John continued: "All we know is…" "He ended up in custody." Sherlock finished with a smirk.

John paused as he saw the smirk, and he said abruptly: "Don't do that." Sherlock frowned as he asked: "Do what?" John said shortly: "The look." Marie looked at him amused while Sherlock asked, confused: "Look?"

"You're doing the look again." John explained and Sherlock retorted: "Well, I can't see it, can I?" John nodded at the mirror on the mantle and Sherlock looked at it. He said confusedly: "It's my face."

Marie laughed at that, while John sighed as he explained: "Yes, and it's doing a thing." Sherlock continued to stare at John so he elaborated: "You're doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face." Marie giggled as Sherlock retorted: "Well, we do."

"No," John snapped back, " _I_ don't, which is why I find The Face so annoying." He glared at Marie as she giggled harder, but she just gave him an amused look. John returned his attention to Sherlock as the younger man explained: "If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he _chose_ to be there."

John's face changed as he realized Sherlock was right. Marie sobered as John fell into thought while Sherlock murmured darkly: "Somehow this is part of his scheme."

* * *

Marie winced as John slammed the door, leaving them with a huff. He and Sherlock had just had another argument about attending Moriarty's verdict. Sherlock had adamantly refused, leading to the argument. John had eventually stormed out when he'd pleaded with Marie to convince Sherlock, only for the woman to side with her boyfriend.

She sighed as she went to the window to watch John's departure. Sherlock sat on the couch, leaning back stiffly, unmoving since his argument with John. Marie sighed again as John climbed into a cab, turning to Sherlock. She saw his stiff posture and walked over, placing her hands on his shoulders and gently massaging them.

He closed his eyes, calming his tense muscles. She murmured: "It will work itself out." He nodded tightly, reaching a hand up to clasp hers tightly as he opened his eyes, staring into space.. "I just don't want you getting hurt." He said in a low voice and she sighed.

"It's too late for that. But I know you'll do your best to keep me as safe as possible, and that's enough for me, Sherlock." When he made no response, she added emphatically: "Really."

He didn't respond, letting go of her hand and falling back into deep thought. He closed his eyes again as she continued to gently rub his shoulders and they remained like that for the next half hour. They both tensed when Sherlock's phone rang, and his eyes snapped open. Marie dropped her hands as Sherlock picked up.

Marie could hear John's voice from where she stood, he was so angry, as he spat incredulously: "Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence, and Moriarty's walked free."

Sherlock didn't even listen to the rest, dropping the phone from his ear as he sat in thought. John's voice continued anxiously: "Sherlock. Are you listening? He's out. You-you know he'll be coming after you. Sher..." Sherlock hung up as he stood abruptly.

"You shouldn't do that, John's worried enough as is." Marie chided softly but he just shook his head as he said tightly: "Which is why I must." She nodded as Sherlock walked to the bedroom to get dressed and prepare for his guest.

"Do you want me to stay?" Marie asked quietly. Sherlock paused before he shook his head. She nodded in defeat as the man disappeared. She walked to the kitchen, putting the kettle on before she grabbed her coat and slipped out of the flat and away from Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock stood fully dressed, playing his violin as he stood by the window. He heard the small creaks on the stairs, despite his visitor's efforts to be as silent as possible but he ignored it as he continued to play. Finally, he paused.

"Most people knock." He turned to face the man standing in his doorway. "But then you're not most people, I suppose. Kettle's just boiled." Sherlock placed his violin down as Moriarty looked around the flat, picking up an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." He commented as he bit into the apple and walked further in. "I'm surprised dear Victoire leaves the mess. May I?" He added almost carelessly as he stood near the chairs. Sherlock ignored the jibe at Marie as he just said politely, indicating John's chair: "Please."

But Moriarty strolled past to Sherlock's chair. Sherlock paused but didn't comment, putting down his bow as he poured the tea into the cups on the tea tray he'd prepared. Moriarty settled into his seat as he commented: "You know, when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end-"

"And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Sherlock finished and Moriarty added: "Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody." Sherlock murmured: "Neither can you. That's why you've come."

"But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased." Moriarty teased and Sherlock asked nonchalantly: "What, with the verdict?"

He handed Moriarty his tea as the other man smiled and said darkly: "With me _..._ back on the streets. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain."

Sherlock met Moriarty's gaze evenly before turning to get his own tea and sit down. Moriarty continued as he picked up his own cup: "You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I. Except you're boring." Moriarty feigned a sigh. "You're on the side of the angels."

"Got to the jury, of course." Sherlock interjected, ignoring Moriarty's words. Moriarty almost snorted as he replied: "I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" Sherlock paused and he murmured in understanding: "Cable network."

Moriarty looked pleased that Sherlock had figured it out so quickly as he relished: "Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm. Easy-peasy."

Sherlock smirked, before his face became serious. "So how're you going to do it?" He blew on his hot tea as he added derisively: "Burn me?"

Moriarty just answered lightly: "Oh, that's the problem. The final problem. I mean, I could just have a go at Vicky," Sherlock's eyes narrowed just slightly, "but she'd probably have my head and I don't think it's dramatic enough for you."

Sherlock's brow quirked a little as Moriarty purred: "Besides, I need to get Vicky back, too. Thanks for packaging yourselves into a bundle for me- saves me trouble." Sherlock just nodded once, accepting the fake thanks with a fake smile as Jim continued: "Have you worked out what it is yet?"

Sherlock paused for a fraction of a second before he continued sipping his tea. Moriarty taunted: "What's the final problem? I did tell you ... but did you listen?" He said in a sing-song voice as he placed his cup back on it's saucer.

Moriarty began to drum his fingers on his knee, which Sherlock glanced at before he focused back on Moriarty as the Irish man continued: "How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don't know'?"

"I dunno." Sherlock replied swiftly, mockingly, and Moriarty smiled appreciatively as he commented: "Oh, that's clever; that's very clever; awfully clever." He picked up his tea again as Sherlock set his down, and Moriarty added: "Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?"

"Told them what?" Sherlock asked and Moriarty elaborated: "Why I broke into all those places and never took anything." Sherlock steepled his fingers before his mouth as he breathed flatly: "No."

"But you understand." Moriarty commented. It wasn't a question but Sherlock replied: "Obviously." Moriarty picked up his biscuit as he said indulgently: "Off you go, then."

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked with a raised brow and Moriarty corrected: "No; I want you to _prove_ that you know it." Sherlock replied flatly: "You didn't take anything because you don't need to."

"Good." Moriarty encouraged and Sherlock continued: "You'll never need to take anything ever again." Moriarty nodded and said: "Very good. Because ...?" He hinted and Sherlock finished flatly: "Because nothing ... _nothing_ in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

Moriarty's eyes darkened as he said: "I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now– they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I _own_ secrecy."

Sherlock tilted his head, watching the man carefully as Moriarty continued: "Nuclear codes? I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey," his voice became playful as he said in a mock diva voice: "you should see me in a crown."

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do." Sherlock realized and Moriarty smirked as he added: "And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells." He raised his brows at Sherlock suggestively, but Sherlock ignored the jibe again.

Moriarty didn't seem surprised by the lack of response as he simply continued: "They all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr Sex." He hinted again as he bit suggestively into a biscuit.

Sherlock ignored that too as he continued: "You could break any bank." His eyes narrowed as he questioned: "What do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't." Moriarty replied shortly. He explained: "I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves _me_ the best!'" He said in a mocking child's voice before he added in a normal tone: "Aren't ordinary people adorable?"

Sherlock didn't comment but he did tilt his head a little as Moriarty added: "Well, you know: you've got John. I should get myself a live-in one." Moriarty said in pretend thought.

"Why are you doing all of this?" Sherlock breathed and Moriarty ignored him as he said mock-thoughtfully: "It'd be so funny."

Sherlock continued: "You don't want money or power, not really." Moriarty dug a pocketknife into the apple he'd picked up earlier as Sherlock asked flatly: "What is it all for?"

Moriarty leaned forward as he sneered: "I want to solve the problem. Our problem… the final problem." Sherlock's eye twitched and Moriarty lowered his head, examining his apple as he warned in a dark tone: "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock. The fall." He whistled a cartoonish dropping sound to illustrate his meaning. He added: "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination."

He made a splattering sound with his mouth and Sherlock grit his teeth. Moriarty lifted his head to stare at Sherlock menacingly. Sherlock stood as he said flatly: "Never liked riddles."

Moriarty stood as he said just as flatly, his eyes cold as he stared Sherlock in the eye: "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... _owe_ ... you."

The two men stared at each other in a silent battle of wills before Moriarty moved past Sherlock, heading for the door. He called over his shoulder as he left: "Do give dear Vicky my love."

Sherlock just stayed where he was, not moving as he waited for Moriarty to leave. As the front door shut, he stepped forward, picking up the apple that had the pocketknife driven into it like a handle. He turned it slowly, reading the letters that had been carved on each side of the round bite mark: 'I O U'.


	28. Fairy Tale

Marie came home to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair thoughtfully, his hands steepled before his mouth. She glanced down at the apple that was sitting on the tea table beside John's chair and her eyes narrowed.

She turned back to Sherlock, who was now watching her intently. She sat down in John's chair, leaning back as she stared at Sherlock silently. "What did he say?" She asked and he said monotonously: "He told me to give 'Vicky' his love."

Her eyes narrowed but otherwise she remained unmoved as she just nodded. "So, what now?" She asked and Sherlock replied thoughtfully: "Now, we wait."

* * *

Marie was incredibly irritated as she read the morning paper. She read the small advertisement that declared a special on Sherlock by a Kitty Riley. Marie recognized the picture of the female reporter as the woman she'd spotted at Moriarty's trial; the one Sherlock had been irritated with.

She went back to the source, re-reading the name again. Brook. She folded the paper, tossing it aside just as Donovan and Lestrade came barreling into the flat. She sighed as Sherlock looked up at them from his armchair.

Marie ignored them as she moved to the windows, glancing out. She saw John arrive outside the flat, looking incredibly worried for some reason. He'd been longer than necessary and he didn't have the groceries. Marie sighed again as she realized Mycroft must've gotten to him and told him about their new 'neighbors'.

She waited for John to walk inside, turning back to the room as the other three worked through the new case urgently. "Sherlock, something weird..." John called as he walked in but he paused as he saw Lestrade and Donovan.

"What's going on?" He asked, confused and Marie focused on the present as Sherlock replied shortly: "Kidnapping." Lestrade said to John: "Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S."

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John said confused and Lestrade explained: "Not him. His children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine." Donovan showed them the pictures as Lestrade continued: "They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey." Donovan explained at John's confused expression. John nodded understandingly as Marie looked closer at the pictures. Sherlock was typing quickly on his laptop as Lestrade continued: "The school broke up; all the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two."

"The kids have vanished." Donovan sighed and Lestrade looked at Sherlock as he said pointedly: "The ambassador's asked for you personally." Sherlock ignored it as he walked passed them and Donovan added cynically: "The Reichenbach Hero."

Sherlock just walked out the door without even looking at the woman. Marie sent a disgusted look at Donovan as she followed Sherlock out. John sighed while Lestrade said sarcastically: "Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity?"

Lestrade drove them to the boarding school, and as they pulled up they spotted a woman crying as she sat on the hood of a police car outside the front doors. A female police officer was speaking to her soothingly as the woman sobbed distraughtly into a handkerchief.

"Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress." Lestrade informed them and as Sherlock walked forward, he warned: "Go easy." Sherlock just strode up to the sobbing woman as he said in a gentle but firm tone: "Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night!"

Sherlock's tone changed, becoming spiteful as he demanded: "What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal? Now quickly, tell me!" The other three looked over as Sherlock's voice raised, Lestrade groaning while John and Marie hung their heads in exasperation.

The woman said desperately: "All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" She begged, and Sherlock soothed in a gentle voice: "I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly."

He patted the woman once on the shoulder as he walked off, calling: "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now." The woman began to sob hysterically while John remained stock-still in disbelief. Lestrade raised his head, as though praying to the heavens for patience while Marie rolled her eyes and followed Sherlock with pursed lips.

They walked through the halls and finally into the girl's room, Marie wrinkling her nose at the pastel pink wallpaper and decorations. Sherlock began to peer about, examining the beds and the various belongings around the room while John muttered: "Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you."

As Sherlock bent to look under one of the beds, John checked: "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?" Lestrade confirmed: "They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock wielded a lacrosse stick briefly, dropping it abruptly as he stalked over to the girl's chest. He opened it, digging around briefly before pulling out a thinly wrapped packet. He glanced at the broken red wax seal before pulling out the book that had been inside.

Marie peered over to see it was 'Grimm's Fairy Tales' and her eyes narrowed. Sherlock didn't react, just rifling through the book quickly before replacing it into the chest and slamming it shut. "Show me where the brother slept." He ordered.

They were led down the hall into a room decorated with blue wallpaper. Marie paused and sniffed as they walked in, her brow furrowing just a little bit. Sherlock stood between two beds, the missing boy's bed on his left, looking at the room door that was facing him.

He murmured: "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so ..." Lestrade questioned and Sherlock continued: "So someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognise, an intruder." He walked to the door, examining it as he pondered: "Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon."

Sherlock closed the door, showing them what the boy might have seen through the fogged door window. He continued thoughtfully: "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room?"

He walked back to the spot between the beds as he asked rhetorically: "How would he use them if not to cry out? This little boy," he walked over to the boy's things as he continued: "this particular little boy..." he spotted something, "who reads all of those spy books."

Sherlock pointed out the collection of books on the boy's beside, and he asked: "What would he do?" John replied uncertainly: "He'd leave a sign?" Sherlock started sniffing and he picked up the boy's cricket bat, sniffing it intently. Sherlock sniffed around the boy's bed, reaching down and picking up an empty bottle.

"Get Anderson." Sherlock ordered.

* * *

Anderson's team boarded all the windows, throwing the room into darkness while Anderson handed Sherlock an ultraviolet torch. Sherlock shone the torch on the wall beside the boy's bed and they saw the message written in large capital letters: 'HELP US'.

"Linseed oil." Sherlock murmured, looking at how the oil dripped down the side of the S. Anderson scoffed: "Not much use. Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper." Sherlock commented as he turned back around: "Brilliant, Anderson."

Anderson, John, and Lestrade blinked. "Really?" Anderson asked and Sherlock replied shortly: "Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot." Marie sighed- she'd seen it coming- while John pulled a face. Sherlock ignored them as he pointed out: "The floor."

John looked as Sherlock shone his torch and they saw footprints, marked in the same oil. "He made a trail for us." John said incredulously and Sherlock pointed out the smaller footprints as he murmured: "The boy was made to walk ahead of them."

John frowned as he examined the prints and he asked incredulously: "On tiptoe?" Sherlock explained as he followed the trail out: "Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head. The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

They followed the tracks to a few steps down the hall where they disappeared, the oil having been rubbed off completely. Anderson muttered: "That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all."

"You're right, Anderson. Nothing." Sherlock paused as Anderson looked at him warily. Sure enough Sherlock smirked as he added: "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Anderson and Lestrade walked off while Sherlock stripped off the covers on the window beside them, pulling out his small tool kit as he bent to the ground. Marie and John joined him, just as Sherlock chuckled. John sighed as he asked: "Having fun?"

"Starting to." Sherlock grinned and John said pointedly: "Maybe don't do the smiling. Kidnapped children?" He reminded and Sherlock paused in the middle of scrapping off pieces of the wooden floor with the oil. John left them and Marie watched as Sherlock scrapped the wood, passing him a petri dish.

He glanced at her, nodding in thanks as she crouched beside him. He said in a low voice: "Go fetch that book for me." She glanced at him but he didn't lift his head from what he was doing so she sighed and got up.

Heading into the little girl's room, she opened the chest, pulling out the book on fairy tales. She paused as she looked down at it, tracing the cover thoughtfully. There were a few pieces of the puzzle that she was missing- Sherlock having refused to tell her everything Moriarty had said when he'd visited.

But she knew it wasn't her place to question things right now- that was for later- so she resolutely straightened her shoulders and walked out again, following Sherlock back outside where John was waiting beside a cab.

As they drove off to Bart's John asked: "But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked." Sherlock explained: "He walked in when they _weren't_ locked." John protested: "But a stranger can't just walk into a school like that."

Marie shook her head, and Sherlock pointed out: "Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot?"

John's mouth fell open as he realized Sherlock was right. Sherlock finished darkly: "He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide."

Sherlock led them inside, Marie trailing behind the other two as Sherlock burst through a set of doors, right before Molly who was just heading out. "Molly!" Sherlock said brightly and the woman looked up, startled.

"Oh, hello. I'm just going out." She greeted, but Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders, wheeling her around and taking her with them as he corrected: "No you're not." Molly looked alarmed, glancing at Marie as she stammered: "I've got a lunch date."

"Cancel it." Sherlock replied coolly. "You're having lunch with me." He pulled out two bags of crisps from his pockets and Molly gaped. "What?" She asked incredulously and Sherlock said lightly: "Need your help. It's one of your old boyfriends, we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty!"

He let Molly go as he strode ahead to pull the door open. John asked in disbelief as he followed his friend: "It's Moriarty?" Sherlock scoffed: "Course it's Moriarty." Molly interrupted, glancing at Marie for some help: "Er, Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it."

"Yes," Sherlock commented, "and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

He pulled out the crisps again, shaking it as he raised his brows at her before he stalked off ahead. John looked at the woman uncomfortably before he followed his friend while Marie patted Molly's arm.

"Sorry." She apologized and Molly glanced at her. "Why are you apologizing?" She asked and Marie sighed as she replied: "Because I owe it to you." Molly blinked but Marie walked ahead and Molly just trailed after the group, confused.

* * *

"Oil, John." Sherlock explained as he began to work on the wood scrapings in the lab. "The oil in the kidnapper's footprint, it'll lead us to Moriarty. All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we're lucky we can see everything that he's been up to."

"I need that analysis." Sherlock muttered and Molly began to work beside Marie. She found the answer and told him as she handed him the results: "Alkaline." "Thank you, Marie." Sherlock said absently, not looking up.

Molly paused as Marie winced. "Molly." Molly corrected and Sherlock replied absently: "Yes." Molly glanced at Marie, who bit her lip apologetically. Marie walked away, feeling guilty, as she walked to the far corner of the room.

John followed her, and the two bent over her work. Molly watched them, and as she looked between Sherlock and Marie, it suddenly clicked why Marie kept glancing at Molly apologetically.

"IOU…" Sherlock muttered thoughtfully. He looked through the microscope as he deduced: "Glycerol molecule. What are you?" He wondered. Molly suddenly piped up: "What did you mean, 'I owe you'?" When Sherlock didn't reply she continued: "You said, 'I owe you'. You were muttering it while you were working."

"Nothing. Mental note." Sherlock replied shortly and Molly glanced at him. "You're a bit like my dad." She commented as she stared at him. "He's dead. No, sorry." She winced apologetically while Sherlock chided: "Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

Molly grimaced but she continued, trying to make her point: "When he was dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely. Except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly..." Sherlock began exasperated but she said bluntly: " _You_ look sad." Her eyes flicked to the other pair in the corner of the lab. "When you think they can't see you." Sherlock paused, his eyes lifting subtly to stare and John and Marie as they sat huddled, talking quietly.

Sherlock looked over at Molly in some surprise as the woman asked: "Are you okay? And don't," she added as Sherlock opened his mouth, "just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you."

Sherlock paused at that and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty. "You can see me." He pointed out but she retorted: "I don't count. Especially not now." She nodded at Marie and Sherlock's face fell. He stared at her apologetically and he began: "Molly, I-"

She cut him off as she said firmly: "What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me _._ No, I just mean..." She corrected hastily, starting to ramble nervously again, "I mean if there's anything you need, from a friend..." she broke off and sighed: "It's fine."

Sherlock blinked confusedly and he asked: "But what could I need from you?" Molly replied defeated: "Nothing. I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually." She muttered and Sherlock paused. "Thank you." He said at last.

Molly quickly walked away, saying: "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?" His eye twitched and she added: "It's okay, I know you don't." Sherlock paused and he began, feeling guilty: "Well, actually, maybe I'll..." She cut him off, walking out as she muttered shortly: "I know you don't."

Sherlock watched her and saw Marie look up briefly, following Molly with her eyes. Marie glanced at Sherlock, but John suddenly piped up from where he'd been examining the photographs from the crime scene.

"Sherlock." Sherlock and Marie turned to him questioningly as John said slowly: "This envelope that was in her trunk." Marie looked at the photograph, seeing the envelope the fairy tale book had been packaged in.

"There's another one." John said as he walked towards his coat. Marie lifted her head sharply while Sherlock asked: "What?" John replied as he rummaged through his pocket: "On our doorstep. Found it today."

He pulled out the envelope and Marie walked over, bringing the photograph with her. She saw the exact same wax seal, also in red as John compared it to the photograph in Marie's hand and said: "Yes, and look at that."

He took both to Sherlock while Marie stood still, her eyes unfocused as she fell into thought. John showed it to Sherlock as he pointed out: "Look at that. Exactly the same seal."

Sherlock took the envelope and checked the contents, saying slowly: "Breadcrumbs." John nodded as he replied: "Uh-huh. It was there when I got back." Sherlock's eyes also unfocused as he murmured: "A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales. Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."

John frowned as he realized: "That's 'Hansel and Gretel'." Sherlock didn't move and John asked incredulously: "What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?" Sherlock murmured: "The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me. 'All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain'."

Marie's head snapped up and she turned to Sherlock, her eyes narrowed. "You left that part out." She said in a low voice but Sherlock ignored her as he muttered: "The fifth substance: it's part of the tale. The witch's house." Sherlock realized.

"What?" John asked and Sherlock explained: "The glycerol molecule. PGPR!" Sherlock got up abruptly. Marie's eyes widened while John asked: "What's that?" Sherlock grabbed his coat as he explained: "It's used in making chocolate."

Sherlock walked out of the lab quickly, Marie right behind him. As John scrambled to follow, she asked Sherlock testily: "Anything else you forgot to mention?" He glanced at her and then stared ahead as he muttered: "It wasn't important." Marie stiffened and she stopped.

Sherlock didn't pause and John glanced at her as he hurried up. "What's wrong?" He asked as he saw the hurt on the girl's face but she just shook her head. "Nothing." She muttered and she began to walk again, following Sherlock. John looked between the pair, confused, but he didn't say any more as they made their way to Scotland Yard.

* * *

"This fax arrived an hour ago." Lestrade informed them and he handed Sherlock a hand-written note. Sherlock took it, reading the brief message written in a scrawled hand: 'Hurry up they're DYING!' He handed it back to John and Marie so they could see it too as Lestrade asked: "What have you got for us?"

Sherlock explained: "Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect." He handed a list to Lestrade who read off: "Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation... What the hell is this? 'Chocolate'?" He asked and Sherlock said impatiently: "I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory."

Lestrade muttered: "We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?" He tried and Sherlock replied: "No. No-no-no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay – that's a far thinner band of geology." He murmured as he fell into thought, going to his mind palace.

"Brick dust?" Lestrade asked, and Sherlock murmured distractedly: "Building site. Bricks from the 1950s." Lestrade groaned as he replied: "There's thousands of building sites in London."

"I've got people out looking." Sherlock said dismissively and Lestrade retorted: "So have I." Sherlock was becoming agitated, trying to think while he replied: "Homeless network – faster than the police. Far more relaxed about taking bribes." He snarked and Anderson rolled his eyes.

Sherlock's phone beeped and he checked his messages, thinking about each one until he found one that matched. "Marie, John." He showed them a picture of a flower and Marie nodded. "Rhododendron ponticum. It matches…" His eyes narrowed in thought but Marie said quietly: "Addlestone."

Sherlock blinked, thought and then nodded, while Lestrade looked up. "What?" He asked, looking at Marie in confusion and Sherlock explained quickly: "There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything."

Sherlock stalked out, Marie and Jonh behind him. "Right, come on. Come _on!_ " Lestrade ordered and his force quickly moved to their feet, rushing to catch up to Sherlock.


	29. The Beginning of the End

They clambered out of the police car, Donovan ordering the troops as they entered the abandoned factory: "You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. _Spread out."_

They all split up, searching amongst the machinery when Sherlock suddenly dashed forward. Marie followed and saw him stooping down to look at a lone candle surrounded by candy wrappers.

"This was alight moments ago." Sherlock murmured urgently as he felt the still hot candle wick. "They're still here!" He called and John and Lestrade hurried over as well. Sherlock looked down at the wrappers, examining it as he muttered: "Sweet wrappers. What's he been feeding you? Hansel and Gretel."

He picked one of the wrappers up, sniffing it and then licking it, making a face almost immediately. "Mercury." He stated and Marie stared. "What?" Lestrade asked while Marie demanded, aghast: "And you just licked it?"

Sherlock ignored her, explaining: "The papers- they're painted with mercury." John groaned as Sherlock continued: "Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate-" "It was killing them." John finished despairingly.

Sherlock pointed out: "But it's not enough to kill them on its own." He looked around the empty factory as he murmured thoughtfully: "Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it would kill them. He didn't need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away."

Sherlock glanced at the wrappers again as he murmured: "The hungrier they got, the more they ate ... the faster they died." He paused and then smirked a little as he conceded admiringly: "Neat."

"Sherlock." John and Marie chided, and Sherlock glanced at them. But they were interrupted as Donovan yelled from the other side of the factory: "Over here!" The group quickly strode to where Donovan's voice had sounded from.

But as they got closer, the police force stopped Sherlock's group. Lestrade looked at them apologetically but Sherlock conceded. They simply followed the officers back to the car, Sherlock recognizing that they needed to let the professionals attend to the children first before he would be allowed to see them.

* * *

Sherlock was waiting impatiently outside the interrogation while John and Marie sat in the waiting room seats. They all looked up as Donovan said smartly: "Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs want go in and have their turn..."

Sherlock just moved to brush past and Lestrade quickly intervened as he said to Sherlock: "Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to…" Sherlock supplied helpfully: "Not be myself."

Lestrade sighed as he said: "Yeah. Might be helpful." Donovan led the way in, stepping aside to let Sherlock into the room with the little girl. John and Marie stayed back, not wanting to overwhelm the poor girl. Marie examined the little girl, who sat with her head bowed and the psychiatrist sitting soothingly beside her.

Sherlock sat down in the seat opposite the girl, saying softly: "Claudette, I..." The girl looked up and suddenly began to scream in sheer terror. Sherlock quickly tried to calm her as he said: "No-no, I know it's been hard for you, Claudette."

The girl continued to scream, her eyes filled with fear. Marie's face had blanched, and Sherlock said urgently, but starting to get up to back away: "Listen to me…" The girl just screamed louder as he moved, shying away and Lestrade grabbed Sherlock as he ordered sharply: "Get out!"

He dragged Sherlock out quickly, and Sherlock followed without protest, still stunned as the girl continued to scream, terrified of him.

* * *

Sherlock was standing thoughtfully, staring out the window of Lestrade's office blankly. Donovan and Lestrade stood on the other side of the room, the woman's eyes staring at the back of Sherlock's head accusingly.

John sat beside Marie, patting her arm soothingly. The brunette didn't look particularly different, but her face was still completely white… and completely blank. John knew the child's screams had shaken her, reminding her of her horrific past.

"Makes no sense." John said at last, and Lestrade said tiredly: "The kid's traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."

John asked worriedly: "What's she said?" "Hasn't uttered another syllable." Donovan replied and John asked with a frown: "And the boy?"

Lestrade shook his head, answering: "No, he's unconscious; still in intensive care."

Sherlock stiffened a little at something he saw outside, but none of them noticed, Marie still to shaken to really take anything in. Lestrade suddenly addressed Sherlock, trying to comfort the man: "Well, don't let it get to you. _I_ always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people." He muttered.

He grinned at his joke, but it fell as John grimaced at him, glancing at Marie. The DI grimaced as well, looking at the girl apologetically but she didn't appear to have heard what he'd said. Lestrade cleared his throat and called: "Come on."

He walked out of his office and John pulled Marie up and led her out gently. They waited outside for Sherlock to join them and it seemed Marie was finally starting to recover as she shook her head and straightened her shoulders.

John sighed in relief but then his face filled with worry once more as Sherlock joined them and John saw his face. Sherlock just walked passed them, and the pair hurried after him as he strode off.

John hailed a cab, and as it pulled up, he asked Sherlock: "You okay?" "Thinking." Sherlock replied shortly and as the cab stopped he said abruptly: "This is my cab. You get the next one."

The pair looked at him incredulously and John demanded: "Why?" Sherlock replied flatly: "You might talk."

John looked highly affronted. Marie stepped after Sherlock with a frown, but he cut her off as he ordered: "You go with John."

John's eyes narrowed while Marie's face flooded with anger. Sherlock just shut the cab door and drove off while John looked after him angrily. He glanced at Marie and he said soothingly: "Look, he's just a bit shaken. He didn't mean it."

Marie turned to look at him as she replied sharply: "He can't keep pushing those near him away every time he feels hurt. He's not a child anymore- he can't keep lashing out at others just because he feels confused."

John was surprised at the bitterness in the girl's voice. She hailed a cab and as it pulled up, he said quietly: "Are you alright?" "No." She replied shortly before climbing into the cab. John sighed but just followed her in, shutting the door behind him as they drove after Sherlock.

Marie and John suddenly stiffened as they heard three distinct gun shots from around the corner, just off Baker Street. As they turned the corner, they saw Sherlock standing beside a man's body, looking around wildly as though confused.

"Stop the cab!" John shouted. The driver stopped in alarm, but Marie had jumped out the cab before it even stopped. She ran over to Sherlock, her hand reaching into her pocket as her eyes darted around.

"Sherlock! Marie!" John shouted as he ran after the woman, joining them. Marie stared down at the body, recognizing him immediately. _Sulejmani_. An Albanian assassin, a distinguished member of a hit squad. He'd been shot three times in the chest.

Judging from the pattern, he'd been hit twice in the chest before the last shot hit his heart. A painful way to be killed. Marie glanced at Sherlock, her hand loosening on the gun. The killer had left Sherlock alive, so he was safe but it confirmed her fears.

They stood in silence, while John called the police and they just waited quietly until the police arrived. As the police took away the body, John murmured to them: "That ... it's him. It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us."

Sherlock said thoughtfully: "He died because I shook his hand." John looked at him in surprise as he asked: "What d'you mean?"

Sherlock explained: "He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" Sherlock walked off, heading down towards their flat. John and Marie followed, Marie still tense.

"Who else is there?" Sherlock asked as they walked and John listed: "Four others- top international killers, according to Mycroft. One was a Russian woman, and two other men."

"Ludmila Dyachenko, Jeno Biondi, and Samuel Bartosz." Marie said tersely. Sherlock glanced at her briefly before looking back ahead thoughtfully while John looked at her in surprise. "You knew about them? And who they were?" John asked incredulously.

She nodded testily as she replied: "I saw them when they arrived. They're good, but not that good. And it wasn't hard to recognize them, given my former job." John let that sink in before he asked in disbelief: "Why didn't you say anything?"

She glanced at him and then at Sherlock. "Because I didn't know what they wanted, and the last thing I wanted was for Sherlock to go looking for them." She murmured. John looked at her in surprise, but didn't say anything as they entered 221.

Sherlock finally spoke again as he muttered: "Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive." He threw his coat aside, sitting at his laptop as he murmured: "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me…"

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finished in understanding. He moved to look out the window while Marie stood beside Sherlock tensely. Sherlock pulled up their Internet connections and murmured: "All of the attention is focussed on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

He looked around the room, deep in thought, when John asked: "So what have you got that's so important?" Sherlock suddenly swiped his desk, checking his finger. "We need to ask about the dusting." He declared.

* * *

"Precise details." Sherlock ordered Mrs. Hudson as he paced the room, checking everything. He demanded: "In the last week, what's been cleaned?" Mrs. Hudson began to list: "Well, Tuesday I did your lino-"

"No, in here, this room." Sherlock interrupted impatiently. "This is where we'll find it, any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust." He swiped his finger across a lampstand to illustrate his point. "Dust is eloquent."

"What's he on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked John in a low voice, but John shrugged not knowing either. Marie had taken up a tense position by the window while Sherlock began to scale the bookcase and he snapped: "Cameras. We're being watched."

Mrs. Hudson looked absolutely shocked as she asked: "What? Cameras? Here? I'm in my nightie!" She cried as she pulled her dressing gown tightly over herself. The doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson left while John went to answer it. Sherlock climbed across the furniture to examine each shelf of the bookcase.

He nudged a book, finally finding what he was looking for. Marie watched silently as Sherlock pulled the camera out of the top corner of the bookshelf just as John walked in with Lestrade.

"No, Inspector." Sherlock said shortly, not even turning to look at the man as he examined the camera. "What?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock repeated: "The answer's no." Both men gaped at the dark-haired man while Marie shifted uneasily.

"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade cried and Sherlock retorted monotonously: "You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking." He finally looked at the DI who sighed, his shoulders sagging as he began: "Sherlock..."

"The scream?" Sherlock interrupted, already knowing what this was about. John looked confused while Lestrade just said, defeated: "Yeah." John looked at Lestrade in surprise while Sherlock asked tersely: "Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart."

Lestrade clenched his teeth while Sherlock continued: "He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist." Sherlock murmured as he stared at Lestrade intently. "You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home," Sherlock tapped Lestrade's forehead, "there."

Sherlock turned away, going to sit as his desk while Marie watched, her shoulder muscles tight. "Will you come?" Lestrade asked, borderline begging and Sherlock replied: One photograph – that's his next move." Lestrade looked incredulous while John folded his arms.

"Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He looked back at Lestrade as he said darkly: "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." Marie's eyes tightened.

Sherlock turned back away from Lestrade as he dismissed: "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan." Lestrade walked out without a backward glance and John watched him leave, his lips pursed.

Sherlock was examining the camera, connecting it to his laptop and checking it's footage while John joined Marie at the windows. He stared down to see Lestrade and Donovan getting into the police car, Lestrade glancing up one more time dejectedly.

"They'll be deciding." Sherlock explained, and John repeated questioningly: "Deciding?"

Sherlock elaborated while Marie's lips folded angrily: "Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me." "You think?" John asked as he looked at Sherlock and Sherlock muttered: "Standard procedure."

John turned back to the windows as he pointed out: "Should have gone with him. People'll think-" Sherlock interrupted sharply: "I don't care what people think."

John said through clenched teeth: "You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong." Sherlock retorted: "No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."

John finally snapped as he turned to Sherlock, saying angrily: "Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're..." John broke off and Sherlock lifted his gaze to look at John.

"That I am what?" He asked in a low voice, daring John to finish. John's fist clenched but he finished firmly: "A fraud." Marie was frowning, her eyes tight as Sherlock turned his head, a mirthless smirk appearing on his face.

"You're worried they're right." Sherlock murmured as he leaned back in his seat and John asked: "What?" Sherlock repeated: "You're worried they're right about me." John's face darkened as he replied shortly: "No."

Sherlock ignored him as he said monotonously: "That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well." John had turned away angrily and he said flatly: "No, I'm not."

Sherlock snarled: "Moriarty is playing with your mind too. Can't you _see_ what's going on?" He slammed a fist on his desk, his control slipping as he spat furiously. Marie's eyes narrowed in anger while John just looked at Sherlock without any emotion.

He turned away again as he muttered: "No, I know you're for real." Sherlock turned back to his work as he demanded: "A hundred percent?"

Marie pursed her lips as John replied flatly: "Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."

Sherlock glanced up, and he smiled a little apologetically. John glanced at him and then away, but a small smile tugged on his lips too. Marie turned to look out the window again as well, satisfied that the two had reconciled.

Neither noticed as the smile dropped from Sherlock's face and a sad but grim expression settled in as he stared blankly at his computer screen for a moment.


	30. Separated

John got off his phone just as Marie's rang. She answered it quietly as John informed Sherlock: "So, still got some friends on the Force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."

Sherlock just sat in his armchair with his hands steepled before his mouth. Both men turned their heads as Marie snarled: "What?"

They looked at her and Sherlock stood in alarm as he took in her stiffened posture. But at that moment, Mrs. Hudson walked in with a knock. She glanced at them, noticing the tension and she asked: "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?"

John shook his head while Sherlock moved over to Marie as she hung up her phone. Mrs. Hudson handed John an envelope as she explained: "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'Perishable' – I had to sign for it."

Sherlock and Marie glanced at the envelope and stiffened as they recognized the seal. Mrs. Hudson continued obliviously: "Funny name. German, like the fairytales." She murmured while John hastily opened the envelope. He reached in as Sherlock and Marie walked over slowly, pulling out a gingerbread man.

"Burnt to a crisp." Sherlock murmured as John held the cookie in shock. John asked as they heard police sirens wailing: "What does it mean?" Sherlock didn't answer, turning to Marie urgently as he asked: "Who was that on the phone."

Marie's eyes filled and she shook her head. Sherlock grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little as he demanded: "Who was it?!" "Sherlock!" John scolded while Mrs. Hudson gasped, but he ignored them as he focused on the woman before him. A tear slipped down Marie's cheek as she whispered: "Mycroft."

"What, why?" John asked confused but Sherlock let go of Marie's shoulders, staggering back a little. "Sherlock-" Marie began, taking a step forward but he cut her off as he ordered: "Get out, go!"

Another tear slipped out while John turned to his flatmate incredulously as he demanded: "What are you saying?" Marie was shaking her head defiantly but Sherlock ordered as he gripped her shoulders: "Go, if the police catch you, there will be nothing we can do."

Just then the doorbell rang urgently and a voice shouted: "Police!" Mrs. Hudson glanced between the three anxiously as she murmured: "I'll go."

John was looking between his two dark-haired friends, brows furrowed as they heard the police clamouring downstairs. Marie's face had become agonized but Sherlock said firmly: "Marie, go."

With one last despairing look, Marie slipped down the hall, disappearing into Sherlock's bedroom just as Mrs. Hudson scolded downstairs: "Don't barge in like that!"

John left as well, going downstairs to help Mrs. Hudson as he demanded: "Have you got a warrant? Have you?" Sherlock stood still for a moment, feeling Marie's loss keenly as though her absence by his side was causing a physical pain in his heart. But he just quietly moved to pick up his scarf as he heard Lestrade say tiredly: "Leave it, John."

Sherlock wrapped the scarf around his neck as Mrs. Hudson was scolding: "Really! Manners!" Sherlock pulled on his coat just as Lestrade walked in, flanked by several officers. Lestrade said firmly but with an apologetic look in his eyes as he snapped handcuffs on Sherlock's wrists: "Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."

"He's not resisting." John interjected, his arms folded in defiance. Sherlock said quietly: "It's all right, John."

John snapped angrily: "No, it's not all right. This is ridiculous." He glared at Lestrade accusingly and Lestrade's shoulders sagged. But that wasn't all. Lestrade asked, defeated: "Where's 'Rose-Marie'?"

John snarled: "What's it to you where she is?" Sherlock warned: "John" as Donovan interjected: "We just received an interesting tip about her. A very large, dense file tip."

Lestrade said to John apologetically: "We have orders to bring her in." "Well, she's not here." John replied defiantly. Lestrade began: "John-" John interrupted furiously: "She's not here. You can search the whole flat, but she's not here."

Donovan said scornfully: "Oh, did she run? Knew we were coming for her?" Lestrade looked at John guiltily but Donovan continued dismissively: "I knew there was something wrong- no one normal would get together with the freak," Sherlock stiffened while John's face became dark, "but to think she was a murderer-"

"Donovan!" Lestrade ordered and the woman shut up. Lestrade glanced between the two angry men and he ordered with a sigh: "Get him downstairs now." He gestured at Sherlock, and two officers took him by the arms and dragged him off.

Mrs. Hudson was watching the whole thing with horror and confusion, her hands clasped before her as though in silent prayer. Lestrade walked out behind them as John threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

John glared at Donovan as he demanded: "You done?" She said defensively: "Oh, I said it." John glared and she continued: "First time we met."

John snapped: "Don't bother." Donovan crossed her arms as she continued: "Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line. Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?"

Mrs. Hudson gasped indignantly, but they were interrupted by a large man entering the room. "Donovan." He called and Donovan said contritely: "Sir."

John appraised the newcomer as he asked: "Got our man?" "Er, yes, sir." Donovan reported and the man asked: "And the assassin?"

Donovan replied qucikly: "Not here, sir. Apparently she took off." The chief said airily: "Well, we'll just have to find her. Won't be able to run long, not when the paper's get a hold of the information."

John's fists curled in anger as the police chief continued: "And our man. Looked a bit of a _weirdo_ , if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types." John stepped forward angrily and the man turned to look at him.

"What are _you_ looking at?" He demanded and John smiled grimly.

* * *

Sherlock glanced over as a police officer asked the Chief: "Are you all right, sir?" The Chief just groaned as he clutched a handkerchief to his broken nose. Sherlock waited and soon enough John was soon slammed onto the police car beside him.

"Joining me?" He asked lightly and John muttered: "Yeah." John explained as the police officers behind them handcuffed him to Sherlock: "Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent."

Sherlock smirked a little as he commented: "Hmm. Bit awkward, this." John grunted as he added: "No-one to bail us." He paused, wondering when it would be safe to ask about Marie, when Sherlock murmured: "I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape."

The police radio in the car suddenly clicked, saying: "All units to two-seven." "What?" John asked distracted by the radio, when Sherlock grabbed the radio, switching it on high. The officers around them clutched their earpieces in pain as the high-pitched feedback grated against their ears.

Sherlock took the opportunity to grab a gun from the closest officer, pointing it wildly around the area as he ordered: "Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" When no-one moved, except Lestrade who threw his hands up in exasperation, Sherlock fired into the air.

" _NOW_ would be good!" He hinted and Lestrade shouted: "Do as he says!" They all bent down, hands above their heads in surrender. John glanced at Sherlock, their linked hands because of the cuffs, and then the crowd as he stuttered: "Just-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just a ... you know…"

Sherlock grabbed John, placing the gun to John's head as he declared: "My hostage."

John agreed: "Hostage! Yes, that works." Sherlock began to back them away and John muttered shakily: "That work. So what now?" He demanded as Sherlock kept glancing around.

"Doing what Moriarty wants." Sherlock replied in a low voice. "I'm becoming a fugitive." As they reached the street corner Sherlock ordered: "Run." They ran, speeding off down the street.

They ran awkwardly and Sherlock ordered: "Take my hand." John did as he was told, interlocking their chained hands as he muttered:" Now people will definitely talk." Sherlock tossed the gun aside and John cried: "The gun!"

"Leave it!" Sherlock ordered as they dashed down the street and towards an alley. Their way was blocked by a fence and Sherlock jumped up onto a bin, easily making it over with his height. Unfortunately, John was stuck on the other side.

"Sherlock, wait!" John demanded as Sherlock was jerked back against the fence as his hand tugged against John's. Sherlock looked back and John grabbed him by the shirt front as he said firmly: "We're going to need to coordinate."

Sherlock glanced around and then ordered: "Go to your right." "Huh?" John asked as Sherlock shifted them across and Sherlock repeated: "Go to your right." As soon as John made it over, they dashed to the end of the alley, pulling up abruptly as a police car passed by.

They backed into the wall, hiding from view as Sherlock explained: "Everybody wants to believe it, that's what makes it so clever. A lie that's preferable to the truth. All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate. Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

John asked breathlessly: "What about Mycroft? He could help us." Sherlock quickly moved, pulling John with him as they turned a corner again while Sherlock scoffed: "A big family reconciliation? Now's not really the moment."

As Sherlock pulled John around another corner, John noticed something. "Sher... Sherlock. We're being followed." Sherlock glanced back to see a man peeping around the far corner, watching them. John moaned: "I _knew_ we couldn't outrun the police."

Sherlock corrected: "That's not the police. It's one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers." Sherlock suddenly ran off and John struggled to keep up as he asked: "Where are we going?"

Sherlock led them to the main street and he replied: "We're going to jump in front of that bus." John asked: "What?!" But it was too late as Sherlock pulled him out into the street, and they stood facing the bus as it came towards them.

They were shoved out of the way by their stalker, narrowly missing being hit. John groaned but Sherlock twisted, reaching into the assassin's pocket and drawing his gun. He cocked it, pointing it right at the man as he ordered: "Tell me what you want from me."

The assassin hesitated, and Sherlock snarled as he held the gun closer to the man's face: " _Tell_ me!" The assassin said in a heavily accented voice: "He left it at your flat."

"Who?" Sherlock demanded and the assassin said confusedly: "Moriarty." Sherlock didn't waver as he demanded again: "What?"

The man was beginning to stand and John and Sherlock followed his movements as the man replied: "The computer keycode."

Sherlock realized: "Of course. He's selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower." His eyes narrowed as another realization dawned on him. "He planted it when he came around." Sherlock realized, when suddenly there were another three shots.

The assassin before them fell down, dead, and Sherlock glanced around quickly when suddenly there was another, single gun shot. Sherlock looked over at John in alarm, but John was blinking back at him, also confused.

Suddenly a shadow darted at them, and Sherlock whipped the gun around as a flash of long dark hair rushed by him. He blinked in surprise as she grabbed his arm, tugging him into a run. Marie led them away from the murder scene, darting into another alley and away from the approaching police siren.

"Marie?" John gasped as he now saw the woman. She quickly worked on their handcuffs, picking it open in a matter of seconds. Sherlock quickly explained to them as Marie pulled the handcuffs off: "It's a game-changer. It's a key – it can break into _any_ system and it's sitting in our flat right now."

He grabbed Marie's hand as his hands were freed and they all peered around constantly on alert as Sherlock continued: "That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock'. We need to get back into the flat and search."

"CID'll be camped out." John pointed out. He added confusedly: "Why plant it on you?"

Sherlock explained: "Same reason Marie's records suddenly and magically appeared. It's another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I'm best pals with all those criminals."

John sighed in defeat while Marie said tensely: "We need to move. And I know where we should go." She nodded at the papers that held the same advert she'd seen before. John read and said incredulously: "A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook."

Sherlock's face changed as he saw the advert, and he became thoughtful as his eyes narrowed. John didn't notice as he asked: "Who is he?"

Sherlock murmured: "Looks like we need to find Miss Kitty Riley."

John looked surprised as he asked: "You know her?" Sherlock didn't respond, just leading them off. As they went, Marie murmured: "I hate you, sometimes." He glanced at her, knowing she now knew everything, but made no comment as John joined them.

They'd made it down another street when John suddenly paused again as he thought of something. "Hang on, what was that other gun shot though? Do you think we're still being followed?" John asked.

"We're not, don't worry." Marie replied shortly. Sherlock glanced at her while John asked confusedly: "How you do kno…" His voice trailed off as realization hit him. He glanced to Marie's side and saw the gun strapped to her leg. He glanced up, only to be met by her impassive face.

He shut his mouth, while Sherlock subtly squeezed her hand. She glanced at him but he didn't look at her. She relaxed just a little though, knowing that he had noticed her pain behind the tight mask she wore and was trying to make her feel better.

They reached the right building and Sherlock waited patiently as Marie opened the front door- not that it was difficult. She took less than five seconds. They walked inside quickly, Marie locking the door behind them to avoid suspicion.

But with Miss Riley's flat door, Sherlock simply forced it open. John rolled his eyes, knowing it was because Sherlock wanted the woman to know someone was there when she returned. They sat on a sofa, Marie sitting between the two men as they waited in complete darkness.

It wasn't long before they heard the front door open and close, and then the pause by the flat door. The door creaked open slowly, the light flicked on, and John turned his head to see Kitty Riley standing there.

Sherlock asked sarcastically: "Too late to go on the record?"

* * *

"Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes. The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo." Sherlock mocked as he paced before the defiant woman as she sat in her armchair. John and Marie watched from their seat on the coach while Kitty just shrugged as she reminded him: "I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so..."

Sherlock interrupted sharply: "And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient." He stopped before the woman and demanded: "Who is Brook?"

The woman curled her lips and shook her head defiantly. Sherlock snarled: "Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone."

The woman lowered her eyes, in what could be mortification, but Marie knew how to read body language. She leaned forward, eyes narrowed while Sherlock continued obliviously: "How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?"

Kitty glared at Sherlock, but was interrupted as the door to the flat opened. Kitty leapt up as Sherlock turned and Marie stood sharply as Moriarty walked in, saying: "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..."

His voice trailed off as he came face to face with Sherlock. John's mouth had fallen open while Sherlock stood absolutely still in shock. Marie examined the man before them with narrowed eyes, taking in the his disheveled appearance.

Moriarty stumbled back, dropping the coffee, his face filling with fear as he accused Kitty: "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here." Kitty said soothingly while the other two men gaped: "You _are_ safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

Sherlock was finally getting over his shock apparently while John demanded in disbelief: "So that's your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

Kitty said as though it was obvious: "Of course he's Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty." John's face contorted into a frown while Kitty continued, turning to look at Sherlock triumphantly as she said: "There never has been." "What are you talking about?" John demanded while Marie's eyes narrowed in anger.

Kitty challenged: "Look him up." Moriarty was standing with his hands raised in surrender, trembling with fear as he glanced between the group. Kitty continued: "Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

Sherlock's face contorted as he realized what was happening. Marie's hands curled into fists as Moriarty pleaded to John: "Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man. Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt me." His voice shook believably but John's face only filled with fury.

"No, you are Moriarty!" John spat as he pointed his finger at the man. Moriarty flinched as John turned to Kitty and snapped: "He's Moriarty!" He turned back to Moriarty as he shouted furiously: "We've _met_ , remember? You were gonna blow me up!"

Moriarty sobbed as he begged: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

John bit out with disgust: "Sherlock, you'd better explain, because I am not getting this."

Kitty said eagerly from behind them: "I'll be doing the explaining. In print." She handed over a file to John who grabbed it and flicked through as Kitty continued: "It's all here – conclusive proof." Kitty walked to stand before Sherlock as she sneered. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

Marie's eyes narrowed while John repeated incredulously: "Invented him?" Kitty hummed as she sneered at Sherlock: "Invented all the crimes, actually. And to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John snapped and Kitty pointed to Moriarty as she challenged: "Ask him. He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard." She encouraged and John exploded: "Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!"

Kitty scoffed as she said: "Yes ... and you paid him," she pointed at Sherlock as she accused, "paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good." She walked over to lay a comforting hand on Moriarty as the man trembled away from John.

"But not so good he didn't want to sell his story." Kitty sneered and Moriarty begged John: "I _am_ sorry. I _am_. I _am_ sorry."

"Shut up now." Marie said darkly. Moriarty looked at her in terror but she could see the glee hidden deep inside his eyes. His terrified act was a mocking slap in her face- it was exactly how she'd been when he'd first started training her.

John said with forced calm: "So-so this is the story that you're gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?" John was beyond incensed and Marie's eyes flashed dangerously as Moriarty cried desperately: "He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty!" He begged the woman. "Show him something!"

Kitty walked across the room as John demanded: "Yeah, _show_ me something." Sherlock hadn't moved, watching Moriarty coldly as the man said in a tremulous voice: "I'm on TV." Kitty handed another file to John, who opened it to Brook's resume.

Moriarty continued shakily: "I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller. I'm ... I'm The Storyteller. It's on DVD." He glanced at Sherlock nervously and Sherlock's head reared back a bit, almost in appreciation as Moriarty began to beg Sherlock: "Just tell him. It's all coming out now."

Sherlock's face was contorting with anger as Moriarty continued: "It's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them. _Tell him!_ It's all over now..." Sherlock began to step forward angrily, his face a mask of fury. Moriarty screamed in fear as he backed away: "NO! Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"

Marie shook her head, the words bringing up terrible memories. ' _Stop it! Stop hurting me!'_ Sherlock saw Marie beginning to shake in suppressed fear and it only fueled his anger as he snarled at Moriarty: "Stop it. Stop it NOW! _"_

"Don't hurt me!" Moriarty screamed as he ran away and Sherlock chased him while John shouted: "Don't let him get away!"

Kitty yelled after them: "Leave him alone!" Moriarty disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Sherlock forced it open, only find the man had disappeared through the open window. John followed him in to check while Sherlock spat: "No, no, no. He'll have back-up."

He strode back towards the door, but Kitty sneered, blocking his path as she said: "Do you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you. And you ... repel ... me _._ "

"You bitch." Marie snarled. John was surprised as Marie's hand snapped back and then forward too fast for the eye to see. There was a sharp crack and Kitty cried in pain as she clutched her nose, completely broken.

Sherlock grabbed the snarling Marie, dragging her with him while John followed the pair, not stopping to help Kitty as she collapsed to her knees, reeling from the pain. She had deserved it.

As Sherlock stalked out of the building, pulling the struggling Marie with him as she fought to go back and get another hit on the reporter, John asked: "Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?"

Sherlock snapped: "He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable." He let go of Marie as he paced angrily. John protested: "Your word against his."

Sherlock replied as he paced, thinking through this new development: "He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to…" Sherlock stopped abruptly, his mouth parting in realization.

John and Marie looked at him in alarm and John asked cautiously: "Sherlock?" Sherlock swallowed as he replied quietly: "There's something I need to do."

John asked confused, while Marie's face contorted in confusion: "What? Can I help?" "No." Sherlock replied shortly. Marie frowned and John opened his mouth when Sherlock added: "On my own."

Marie snapped: "No." Sherlock turned, grabbing her shoulders and he asked her seriously: "Do you trust me?"

Her eyes narrowed but he demanded: "Do you trust me?" Her jaw clenched but she replied: "With all my heart."

His blue eyes bore into hers as he said: "Then let me go." Her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing but he just leaned in, crashing his lips into hers. John watched, aghast, as Marie kissed Sherlock back for just a second before Sherlock broke away.

Without looking at either of them, the tall man turned and walked away, leaving his friend and his lover to stare after his retreating figure.


	31. The Final Problem

Marie P.O.V.

John had disappeared on his own, muttering angrily about finding the source behind this. Marie let him leave, knowing who he'd gone to. There was only one person in this world who could give Moriarty the information about Sherlock. As John would no doubtedly point out, Sherlock's phone consisted of exactly three names- and it hadn't been her or John who'd blabbed.

Marie took the opportunity to go into hiding, disappearing into the shadows of a random alley. She knew Moriarty would be looking for her, and she knew it was only a matter of time. Her phone buzzed and she picked up.

"Hello?" She asked. She listened carefully and her face morphed into first disbelief and then anger. She didn't say anything however, hanging up at the end of the call and leaning her head back. She sighed, and stayed in her spot for another few hours, her head bowed dejectedly.

As daylight approached, she moved. She'd made it to a corner when movement caught her eye. She tensed, knowing she'd been spotted by Moriarty's men. But she wasn't a trained assassin for nothing. She slipped into the shadows once more, making use of her full skillset.

* * *

She'd just finished off the last man, and when she received a call from John. "Hello?" She asked and John said urgently and desperately: "Mrs. Hudson's been shot." Her head shot up and she asked sharply: "How?"

"I don't know, it must've been one of those God-damned assassins!" John cried and Marie could hear that he was driving somewhere, probably in a cab.

"Where's Sherlock?" She demanded and John snapped: "He stayed at Bart's, that machine. Didn't care."

Marie's blood ran cold and she said urgently: "John, was he alone?"

John snorted as he said angrily: "Yes, like he wanted to be. He said it was his protection." Marie's breathing hitched, as John continued: "I'm almost back at 221, but I'll need you, too. Do you think you can make it? Marie?"

But she'd hung up, running as fast as she could to St. Bart's Hospital. _Sherlock_.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock walked out onto Bart's roof, strolling towards Moriarty who was waiting as Sherlock had requested. He was blasting music, 'Stayin' Alive', his head bobbing along to the music as he noticed Sherlock's presence.

"Ah. Here we are at last." Moriarty said contently. "You and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem." He paused as the song reached it's climax and he repeated the lyrics: "Stayin' alive!" He paused before he said dejectedly: "It's so boring, isn't it?"

He turned off the music angrily as Sherlock paced before the man. Moriarty continued petulantly: "It's just ... _staying._ " He grimaced before he continued: "All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you." He paused and when Sherlock showed no reaction, he added: "Because I've beaten you."

At that, Sherlock's head swivelled to look at him and he stopped walking. Moriarty continued in disgust: "And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy." His voice was forlorn and he muttered loathingly: "Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out _you're_ ordinary just like all of them."

He lowered his head before he got up as he said lightly: "Ah well." "Sherlock just watched as Moriarty began to pace around Sherlock. "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?" Moriarty taunted.

"Richard Brook." Sherlock said flatly and Moriarty said happily: "Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do." Sherlock retorted: "Of course." Moriarty said, pleased: "Attaboy." Sherlock continued almost cutting Moriarty off: "Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach. The case that made my name."

Moriarty sniffed as he replied lightly: "Just tryin' to have some fun." He glanced down at Sherlock's hands that were clenched behind his back. Moriarty watched as Sherlock's fingers tapped a rhythm against his fist, and he smirked: "Good. You got that too."

Sherlock explained: "Beats like digits. Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life." Moriarty looked a little disappointed as he circled Sherlock while Sherlock continued: "It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

Moriarty commented: "I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy." Sherlock said hotly: "Yes, but now that it's up here," he tapped his head, "I can use it to alter all the records." Sherlock turned to look at Moriarty as he declared: "I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."

Moriarty's face darkened and he groaned: "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. This is too easy." Sherlock's face contorted in confusion, when Moriarty turned to him and snarled: "There _is_ no key, DOOFUS!"

He calmed down a little as he explained monotonously: "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock." Moriarty mocked angrily.

Sherlock said with a frown: "But the rhythm..." Moriarty snapped: "'Partita number one.' Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach." He paced petulantly, angry, while Sherlock tried to figure it out as he asked: "But then how did..."

Moriarty cut in angrily: "Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison? Daylight robbery." He yelled. He snarled as he explained: "All it takes is some willing participants." Sherlock's face contorted as he realized- just some people on the inside who could be paid off to do the work at the right signal.

Moriarty turned as he spat at Sherlock: "I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness, not _Victoire_ ," Sherlock stiffened but Moriarty was too angry as he spat, "you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it."

Moriarty spread his arms appreciatively while Sherlock muttered: "Do it? Do – do what?" And then he realized and he turned to look over to the edge of the roof. "Yes, of course. My suicide." He murmured.

Moriarty sneered in a mocking tone: "'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true." As Sherlock walked up to the edge of the roof, Moriarty added in his normal voice: "I love newspapers. Fairytales." He joined Sherlock in looking over the edge of the roof.

"And pretty Grimm ones too." He added and Sherlock took a deep, shuddering breath.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John rushed into 221, muttering profanities at his friends while he dashed in hurriedly, only to pull to an abrupt stop as he was met by Mrs. Hudson in the hallway. The woman looked surprised as she turned away from the maintenance man who was fixing the roof.

"Oh, God, John! You made me jump!" She gasped and John gaped. "But .." He said in confusion and Mrs. Hudson asked concernedly: "Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?"

John realized what had happened and he breathed: "Oh my God." He ran back out, shouting: "Taxi! Taxi!" He climbed in desperately, ringing Sherlock's phone.

"Come on, pick up. Pick up!" He hung up and tried Marie. "Why now?" He groaned as she didn't pick up either.

* * *

Sherlock. P.O.V.

Sherlock snarled at Moriarty desperately: "I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity." Moriarty looked bored as he sighed: "Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort."

Sherlock turned away, his mind working furiously while Moriarty taunted: "Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease?" Sherlock grabbed Moriarty and pulled him so the man was hanging just at the edge of the roof, Sherlock's grip the only thing keeping the man out of danger.

"You're insane." Sherlock snarled and Moriarty asked: "You're just getting that now?" Sherlock shook him threateningly and Moriarty pretended to squeal. "Okay." His voice turned dark as he said: "Let me give you a little extra incentive."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and Moriarty snarled: "Your friends will die if you don't." Sherlock's eyes shifted. _Marie_ , he thought first but he re-thought what Moriarty had said. _Friends_. Sherlock gasped out: "John."

Moriarty corrected: "Not just John. Everyone." Sherlock added: "Mrs Hudson?" And Moriarty repeated in a dangerous whisper: " _Everyone._ "

"Lestrade." Sherlock murmured. Morirarty nodded as he explained: "Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now."

He pulled himself up and he snarled into Sherlock's ear: "Unless my people see you jump." Moriarty stepped back on solid ground as Sherlock stood, breathing heavily. Moriarty taunted: "You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless ..."

Sherlock finished monotonously: "Unless I kill myself, complete your story." Moriarty nodded as he added: "You've gotta admit that's sexier." Sherlock continued, ignoring him: "And I die in disgrace."

"Of course." Moriarty pointed out: "That's the _point_ of this. Getting back at Vicky is just an added bonus." Sherlock flinched and Moriarty commented: "She's difficult to kill, I'll give her that. But why should I kill her? She'll never to able to live peacefully again now that her records are public."

Sherlock's jaw clenched and Moriarty purred: "And now she'll have to live on the run, forever, with the knowledge that she couldn't save you." Sherlock's breathing hitched and Moriarty glanced down to see people starting to move, getting on with their day.

"Oh, you've got an audience now." He commented offhandedly. He nodded at Sherlock. "Off you pop. Go on." Sherlock stepped up to the edge as Moriarty continued: "I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it."

As Sherlock stood at the edge, Moriarty commented: "You know, this was too easy. Maybe I should've tested Vicky. But you were more interesting," he emphasized the past tense as Sherlock's breathing came harder, "and she's no fun. She's smart, no question; but I made her. I know every part of her."

Sherlock tensed as Moriarty snarled: "I've broken her before, and I know I still can. Remember the child in our game with the bombs? Knew she would freeze when she heard the child's voice." Sherlock's eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

"Even now her one weakness is not you, Sherlock. It's me." Moriarty turned away, and said almost boredly: "And now I'll seal it. How distraught she will be at your death and disgrace." He nodded at the ground. "Off you go, my dear."

Sherlock said shakily: "Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy? Please?" Moriarty shrugged as he said lightly: "Of course." Sherlock fell into thought, thinking through everything.

Realization struck and Sherlock began to chuckle triumphantly. Moriarty turned and demanded: "What? What is it?" Sherlock turned to face him as Moriarty snarled: "What did I miss?"

Sherlock hopped off the edge of the roof, walking up to Moriarty as he quoted: "' _You're_ not going to do it.' So the killers can be called off, then. There's a recall code or a word or a number." Moriarty paused as Sherlock circled the man, saying triumphantly: "I don't have to die ... if I've got you."

Moriarty smiled and he snorted: "Oh! You think you can make me stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that?" He asked disbelievingly and Sherlock replied promptly: "Yes. So do you."

Moriarty said unimpressed: "Sherlock, your big brother, your _girlfriend_ , and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to." Sherlock turned on him as he snarled: "Yes, but I'm not my brother nor my girlfriend, remember?"

He looked into Moriarty's eyes as he said darkly: "I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Moriarty looked up at him for a moment before he said dejectedly: "Naah. You _talk_ big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels."

Sherlock corrected in a low voice: "Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think," he bit out each word distinctly, "for one second that I am one of them."

Moriarty paused at that and stared into Sherlock's eyes. "No," he realized, "you're not." Moriarty closed his eyes briefly before he stared at Sherlock once more. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me."

His voice became delighted as he almost caressed the words: "You're me! Thank you! Sherlock Holmes." He held out a hand and Sherlock glanced at it before slowly lifting his to shake his nemesis's hand. "Thank you." Moriarty repeated as happy tears welled in his eyes. " _Bless_ you."

He looked down as he said in a low voice: "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out." He nodded his head before he said darkly: "Well, good luck with that." Moriarty opened his mouth wide, his other hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun.

Sherlock flinched, backing away immediately but Moriarty simply placed the gun in his own mouth and shot. Sherlock stared at the dead man before him, the blood oozing out the back of Moriarty's head from the bullet wound through the roof of his mouth.

Sherlock spun around, looking for a way out, and then focused on the roof edge. He took a deep breath and stepped up onto the edge. He reached into his jacket, pulling out his phone as he watched a cab pull up outside Bart's just as a woman's figure came rushing down the street at a remarkable pace.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John picked up his phone as he got out of the cab, asking immediately: "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

Sherlock ordered: "Turn around and catch Marie." John looked around in surprise and he saw the dark-haired woman who was sprinting for Bart's hospital. John darted forward, grabbing her and she turned to him, startled. Her hand rose a little as though to smash his head in, but she relaxed when she saw who it was.

"John?" She asked but John shook his head as he said into his phone: "Okay, got her."

Sherlock ordered: "Good, now take her and walk back the way you came." John frowned as he replied: "No, I'm coming in."

Marie heard Sherlock's desperate voice as he ordered: "Just do as I ask. Please." John stopped, and turned retracing his steps, taking Marie with him as he asked: "Where?"

Marie frowned as Sherlock ordered: "Stop there." John paused, standing confusedly in the middle of the sidewalk as he asked: "Sherlock?" Marie glanced up and her eyes widened.

"Sherlock!" She screamed, taking a step forward and John looked up at where Marie was looking. "Oh God." He gasped as he stared at the outline of his friend standing at the edge of the roof.

Sherlock's voice shook a little as he admitted: "I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this." John demanded in concern: "What's going on?"

"An apology." Sherlock said quietly. "It's all true."

Marie was looking between John and Sherlock, unable to hear what he was saying. John stuttered: "Wh-what?" Sherlock explained: "Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

John frowned as he asked in a mix of confusion and anxiety: "Why are you saying this?" "I'm a fake." Sherlock told him in a hoarse voice and John sighed: "Sherlock..."

Sherlock cut in, saying in a tearful voice: "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly… and Marie." He took a deep breath as he continued desperately: "In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

John said in a mixture of anger and concern: "Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met..." John swallowed as he bit out: "the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

Sherlock retorted: "Nobody could be that clever." "You could." John answered immediately. Sherlock chuckled as he explained in a soft voice: "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. Remember when I didn't get Marie right?"

John's face scrunched up. Sherlock said quietly: "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

Marie was looking between John and Sherlock, her head whipping between then anxiously. John finally said: "No. Alright, stop it now." He began to walk but stopped quickly as Sherlock ordered: "No, stay _exactly_ where you are."

When John had moved, Marie cracked as well, making to dash over to Bart's. Sherlock cried: "Stop Marie!"

John grabbed his friend, pulling her to him as Sherlock begged: "Don't move." "Alright." John pacified, trying to calm Sherlock and Marie listened with wide eyes as Sherlock begged with his hand outstretched: "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

His voice broke a little and John asked worriedly: "Do what?"

Sherlock said slowly: "This phone call, it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they. Leave a note?" Marie's face lost all colour and John asked in a frightened voice: "Leave a note when?"

Sherlock paused before he said quietly: "Tell Marie I love her."

Marie sobbed once and John whispered: "Sherlock-" "Goodbye, John." Sherlock said flatly. John protested: "No. Don't."

Sherlock tossed his phone aside, and John shouted in alarm: "Sherlock!" Marie screamed as Sherlock jumped. "Sherlock!"

John was too shocked as he gasped: "Sher..." Marie screamed in anguish as Sherlock's body hit the ground. She ran, and John stumbled forward after her, heading for Sherlock blindly as he whispered: "Sherlock…"

He was hit by a passing cyclist, who had been unable to stop as John's sudden movement took the man off guard. John fell, hitting his head. He groaned, trying to get his bearings as he crawled back to his feet. By then, a crowed had appeared around Sherlock's body but John continued, pushing past the crowd as he stuttered: "I'm a doctor, let me come through."

Marie was unable to get closer as well as nurses, who'd come running out of Bart's, barred them. Instead, Marie had collapsed to her knees, keening, while John begged: "Let me come through, please. No, he's my friend. He's my friend. Please. _Please_ , let me just..." John reached through the crowd, grabbing Sherlock's wrist and checking for a non-existent pulse.

As the ER brought out a gurney, John moaned: "Nggh, Jesus, no. God, no." He collapsed, overwhelmed as he took in the empty face, the dead eyes staring up as blood trickled over his friend's face while the woman who'd loved him wailed, sobbing her heart out.


	32. Epilogue

John P.O.V.

John stayed in a daze for the next few days, unable to wrap his head around what had happened. The press were having a field day, calling the incident: 'Suicide of fake genius'.

Marie had disappeared shortly after the incident, unable to stay or even attend Sherlock's funeral as she had to go on the run. Mycroft had prevented her past from becoming public knowledge, but the police knew and were on the lookout for her. John's heart twisted every time he thought of that- she would have to run for the rest of her life, and never be able to see Sherlock again. Not even his final resting place.

So it was with a heavy heart that John and Mrs. Hudson went to Sherlock's grave, the only ones who came to pay their respects. All that love and fame Sherlock had received for his miracle cases, and this was how it was repaid in the end.

Mrs. Hudson murmured as the pair stood by Sherlock's grave: "There's all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school."

When John didn't respond, she began: "Would you ...?"

John interrupted firmly: "I can't go back to the flat again, not at the moment. I'm angry." Mrs. Hudson nodded understandingly as she murmured: "It's okay, John. There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel."

The looked down at the shiny gravestone as she listed: "All the marks on my table; and the noise. Firing guns at half past one in the morning." John sighed: "Yeah." Mrs. Hudson continued: "Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine, keeping bodies where there's food!"

John nodded, agreeing: "Yes." Mrs. Hudson was on a roll as she complained: "And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!"

John interrupted at last: "Yeah, listen: I-I'm not actually _that_ angry, okay?" Mrs. Hudson nodded contritely and she murmured: "Okay. I'll leave you alone to, erm ... you know."

She gestured at the grave and she walked away, sobbing. John waited for her to walk out of earshot before he began, stuttering a little on his words and fighting to keep his voice steady even as it cracked at times: "Um ... mmm. You ... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this."

John's voice came stronger, as he said determinedly: "You were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so..." He paused before he said spitefully: "There."

He lowered his head, and he swallowed hard. He glanced to check he was alone as he stepped forward, touching the gravestone as he admitted: "I was so alone, and I owe you so much." He took a deep breath and murmured. "Okay."

He turned and began to walk away before he turned back and asked, his voice cracking: "Oh, please, there's just one more thing, right, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me and for Marie, wherever she is now."

He paused and he fought tears as he asked: "Don't ... be ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. Stop this." He sighed as he stared down at Sherlock's grave before he lowered his head. The tears finally broke through and he sobbed just once.

He quickly wiped his eyes, and stood straight and resolute. With his back ram-rod straight with resolution, he turned and walked away, leaving his friend's grave behind.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock watched John leave from afar, standing in the shadows of the trees. He stood staring after his best friend, unmoving and not saying a word. Marie stepped up beside him, commenting quietly: "That was sweet of him."

Sherlock ignored the slight accusation in her tone as he turned and began to walk away. He stopped when Marie said in a low voice: "You should tell him. You owe it to him."

Sherlock shook his head as he replied: "You know why I... _we_ can't." She turned to him as she demanded: "It's killing him, Sherlock."

Sherlock replied: "No, it's what's keeping him alive. Moriarty's criminal network was vast and until it's brought down, none of them are safe. This is the only way to ensure their protection. You know that."

Marie's eyes saddened as she glanced back. "I know. It just..." She sighed unhappily. She hadn't been happy with this idea ever since they'd started planning for it about three months earlier.

"I'll keep watch on them, as we planned." She promised in a small voice. Sherlock murmured in a strained attempt at comfort: "Besides, if he really thought about it, John has everything to figure it all out."

Marie sighed. "You know he never could. It's why you allowed it to slip." She pointed out.

"And you know we couldn't let him realize anyway." Sherlock replied softly. She didn't reply immediately and when she did, she simply said quietly: "We should go. Mycroft is probably waiting."

He didn't reply, just reaching out and taking her hand as he led her away gently. As they walked, Sherlock murmured: "Thank you. I know this was hard on you."

"You mean my acting, or working with Mycroft?" Marie teased half-heartedly and he cracked a smile. She sighed as she answered more seriously, her voice low: "It wasn't too bad. I, at least, knew it wasn't real. Poor John."

Sherlock squeezed her hand as she paused before she continued in a soft voice: "And besides, the worst is only to come."

She turned her gaze to him sadly and Sherlock met her green eyes, his own blue ones softening at the pain in hers. "I'll miss you." She said quietly and Sherlock stopped walking. He brushed his hand through her hair, pulling her closer gently.

He softly kissed the top of her head as he murmured: "As I will miss you." She hugged him tightly, murmuring: "Stay safe. Please."

"I'll try. For you." He promised in a low voice.

They stayed like that for a moment before he let her go. She turned and walked away without a backward glance, although it took all her strength. Sherlock watched her slip away and disappear amongst the shadows. He glanced back at his empty grave, before turning resolutely.

He had a job to do, and if it meant keeping those he loved safe, he would do whatever he had to.

* A/N Thank you to everybody for reading. I am working on the sequel and will begin posting it soon. Thank for your support, and until the next time!


	33. SEQUEL POSTED

Very self-explanatory :) Thank you to everyone for being so patient, and for being so supportive of this book. The sequel is titled 'Despite the Odds', and it can also be found on my profile. Thanks once again to all my readers!


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